Please, Achilles, Please
by Studio Huh
Summary: There were few he loved in life. But when he loved, he did so unconditionally.
1. Please01

_Phtia, Greece_

A warrior faced off against five contenders in a distant sparring field. In a few moments, the fight began and a crowd of onlookers surrounding them huddled closer to get a better view of the outcome of the rather uneven match. It came as expected and with no surprise. Two strikes to the right and two men were down, gasping for air upon the hot ground. Two strikes to the left and the other two followed, one suffering from a blow to the ribs and the other a bruised leg. Finally, with one leap in the air and a swift blow, the last of the warrior's opponents fell- a testament to his skill and battle prowess.

Achilles took off his helmet and looked down at the men who lay before him, the men who lay _beneath_ him. "Do you want a rematch? Or was that good enough for you?" he sneered. When there was no reply, he walked towards the largest of the men he bested and placed a booted foot atop his chest. Smiling, he directed his sword at the man's throat and called out to the men who were watching the familiar scene. "Normally, I would not have entertained such a challenge, but to ignore the five of you when you traveled so far to seek the pleasure of my company? No host could be that rude to his guests."

The crowd of soldiers laughed and jeered.

Achilles watched the large man's eyes widen with fear and his smile deepened. "I was also giving my men a sparring lesson today and you and your comrades proved useful to my cause." He called out to the amused crowd before him. "Now, Myrmidons, what have you learned? Did you take note of the angles at which I struck my sword? Or the alternating movements when it came to blocking an attack?"

"The first rule of battle my lord, is to never doubt yourself," a burly, bearded Myrmidon with large eyes replied.

"Excellent answer Eudorus, but can you elaborate?"

"One must never hesitate, but he must also know what he is doing."

"And what is the second rule when it comes to challenging an opponent?" Achilles pressed his subordinates for an answer,simultaneously increasing the pressure of his weapon on his victim's throat. The man whimpered and a red cut appeared on the surface of his neck.

"Would that be to know your enemy's weaknesses?" came a timid response from a young soldier who bore a startling resemblance to the lecturer.

"You are correct Patroclus, but that is not the first thing that should be remembered when challenging someone to a fight. Can anyone tell me what the most important rule is when it comes to dueling?"

When no answer came, Achilles' gaze narrowed and he bore down on the man whose life was situated beneath the tip of his sword. The man was twice his size, yet he was no match for the warlord who spent countless of years in battle, honing his skills and ending the lives of those who dared oppose him.

"The first rule when it comes to challenges is to never, _ever_, underestimate your opponent." The warlord's voice turned cold and menacing. "To do that means certain death."

-

-

STUDIO HUH presents

Please, Achilles, Please.

An attempt at writing Troy fan fiction

-

-

"But was it really necessary?" Patroclus mumbled, almost to himself. "He could have taught the lesson without maiming them, you know."

Eudorus sighed. "Patroclus, your cousin didn't exactly _kill_ them, save their leader…and their _bruises_ should heal in a year or two."

"A year or two of utter uselessness. That sounds like a fate worse than death."

"Now you're exaggerating." Eudorus dropped his spear into one of the holders by the wall of the palace. An hour had passed since the training session and the Myrmidons had already departed for their homes, located not far from Achilles' domain. Only Patroclus and he remained to follow their leader to his residence in the heart of Phtia, where he ruled in military fashion. The boy because he lived with Achilles, who was his cousin and guardian; Eudorus because he awaited for further instruction from his lord. The heat of the sun made Eudorus cranky, but his companion's sensitivity only helped in souring his disposition. It was a good thing that Achilles had retreated to his room a few minutes ago to wash and change. It was not the first time his tactics were questioned by his charge.

"Am I?" Patroclus retorted. "To fight is as essential to a warrior as breathing. It's what defines him as a man- and to be forced to stay at home doing nothing is a disgrace! That is what is left to those men, now that my cousin has injured them."

Eudorus wisely said nothing, but this only increased Patroclus' ire.

"You don't know what it's like. Not being able to fight in the frontlines- not being able to fight at all," the distraught young man continued. "The only manly activity my cousin lets me participate in is the _whoring_! And can you imagine what I tell the women after I am with them? I have to invent tales about going into battle with the rest of the Myrmidons when I've never even been given the opportunity to do anything of the kind…"

Eudorus bent over to adjust the strap of his sandal.

"…all he lets me do is guard the camp. If I am lucky enough, I may watch him fight while I hold his shield like an armor bearer."

"Many would kill to be given that honor." Eudorus finally took pity on him and embellished his monologue with a reply. " Do you know what I was doing at your age, Patroclus?"

He shook his head.

"_Exactly the same thing_. Only that I served a different master then. And every time I gave him the wrong shield he would beat me for his amusement. It took a long while before I was free of him. Then your cousin came and trained me. A few years later I was recruited to serve him… and here I am now. Being a Myrmidon is a rare privilege. That's why you simply _must wait_." He straightened up and looked at the grimacing youth.

"Now tell me, has your cousin ever struck you in a fit of anger?"

"No, but I never gave him cause to fly into a rage."

"Has he ever abused you with words?"

"No."

"Insulted you?"

"No."

"Humiliated you?"

"No."

"Berated you in a manner that was not helpful?"

"No."

"And don't I know it. Anyone can see that he _loves_ you…but enough of this. I thought you were concerned with the men who were defeated at the sparring session?"

"Well, yes," Patroclus uttered, reddening in embarrassment at the realization that he had drifted to the same topic that had been bothering him for the past few years. "All I was saying was that they were foolish men, but I don't think they deserved such a beating."

"To be foolish is to be dead. That is the warrior's way. You know that, cousin," came a voice from the entrance of the chamber. Achilles was standing a few feet away from them and had managed to catch the last part of their conversation.

Eudorus straightenedwith respect. "My lord, you wished to speak with me."

"Yes, but I'll address my charge first."

Patroclus groaned inwardly. Eudorus left them to their privacy and exited the room.

-

-

The large, blonde man studied the boy he had cared for since childhood. Nowadays, he was growing up so fast it seemed impossible for even the great Achilles to understand him. And yet, he saw himself in his cousin. When he was sixteen, he was as angry and restless as Patroclus was now. The similarities between them only resulted in an increase of affection, though.To Patroclus and onlyto Patroclus would Achilles express concern and worry. There were only 10 years separating them, but Achilles looked upon his younger relative as his own brother. This warranted the uncharacteristic streak of protectiveness in the warrior king.

Patroclus was now staring resignedly at the floor. Achilles sighed and broke the silence that threatened to engulf the room. He walked over to the young man and put his hand on his shoulder. "And what do you think I should've done? Let them go? You know they would've returned to bother me again. Men like that do not stop until they are satisfied."

"But you are so much better than them, cousin. Was it really worth your while to beat them in front of us?"

"No, they weren't worth my notice, but it was absolutely necessary in this this case." He waited until he commanded the boy's full attention.

"In a serious duel, it is not only acceptable to defeat your opponents, but to dispose of them completely. To let them escape and run away is not only a disgrace to yourself, but to them. You are familiar with the concept of death before dishonor, are you not?"

Patroclus nodded. It was one of the lessons hammered into every warrior during his training.

"That is one of the things that come with it."

"But what of mercy and forgiveness? Do they not have a place in the warrior's code as well?"

"They do, but only in certain instances. Sometimes, mercy can lead to a man's downfall. How many stories have you heard of a warrior being killed because he was too kind or because he was too innocent in the ways of the world? You would be surprised how often the enemy can turn a soft heart to his advantage."

"And as for those men I've dealt with…they were _men_. Not boys. They knew perfectly well what they were asking for when they demanded a little demonstration from the likes of me. I was also aware of their coming."

Patroclus looked up in surprise.

"Yes, cousin… I can see you did not know that I was alerted as soon as they stepped on our land. But I must ask you…have you heard rumors about a band of warriors from the North?"

"You mean, the clan from Thessaly who were said to be responsible for slaying at least ten giants?"

"Yes. They were the men I trussed up just a while ago. And they are not only reputedly the best warmongers of their kingdoms, but also the most intent on proving it to anyone who dares cross their path. They've killed many a chieftain since then, and upon hearing of me they came all the way to Phtia. In a year or two, they should be coming back again to stir things up…if their injuries ever heal, that is." Achilles smiled cruelly. "They'll just have to find themselves a new leader while they're at it."

There was always something sinister about the way he smiled when he spoke of those he had slain.

-

-

"All right now, Patroclus?" Eudorus asked, just as the young man exited the room he was about to enter.

"Fine…fine." Patroclus said, offhandedly. While the condition of the Thessalonians was no longer a concern of his, being able to fight on equal grounds with the rest of the Myrmidon still was and always would be. "He revealed who his contenders were, so I don't feel for them now, but I still don't think I'll be able to prove myself any time soon."

"Good things come to those who wait, but at least you can see how he cares for you." Eudorus shook his head. " You are lucky to have a mentor such as he. If I could trade places with you I wouldn't even mind having to guard camps or hold armor."

Patroclus was so angry he could not speak.

-

_(to be continued...)_

-

-

_Author's note:_ I hope you like this so far. :) This is the first fanfic I've ever posted here and I really enjoyed writing it... also, please be reminded that while this is based on Troy, I don't plan on sticking to all the events in the movie. Call it artistic license. And speaking of which, here's an Achilles/Briseis fan art I made recently at

www(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)view(slash)8225307

P.S. Phtia is located in Thessaly- this is something the film got wrong.


	2. Please02

_The Royal House of Troy_

It was indecent to enter a lady's room in the middle of the night.

The young prince had developed an unparalleled talent for that particular exercise though, and in a matter of minutes his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Paris groped around and when his hand came upon an unlit candle on a table he lifted it and headed towards the bed a few feet away from the room's entrance.

Sitting on a corner pillow, he lit the candle and placed it on a stool nearby. He then took a few moments to study the bed's occupant- who remained asleep despite this disturbance. _I_ _praise the gods that she's a heavy sleeper_, Paris mused, marveling at how the warm glow of the flame highlighted the darkness of her wavy hair. _She has such long lashes too_, he smiled to himself. Reaching out, he tucked an unruly strand of hair beneath her ear, wondering what scheme he would have to come up with to fend her suitors off the next day. _Like ants, they are_, he frowned. _You'd think that they never laid eyes on a beautiful woman before. _Despite the soft pressure of his fingers on her cheek, the girl did not stir and Paris finally decided to wake her. It took several taps to the shoulder, but her eyes finally opened.

Realizing she was not alone, the princess opened her mouth to scream, but Paris' hand came swiftly down and muffled her cries of alarm. Her arms came up and she tried to fend him off, but he pinned them both above her head. She began to whimper.

"Calm down Briseis, it's only me!"

Sighing with relief, she immediately gave up her struggle and he released her from his hold.

"Paris? What are you doing here at this hour? You gave me such a fright!" Briseis whispered, clutching the blanket to her bosom as if to fend of an unwanted lecher.

'I'm sorry cousin, but I had to ask you a favor."

She rubbed her eyes. "Oh Paris, I'm so sleepy. Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

"It really can't…you see, I was with Oenone just now. You know father won't approve- and can you imagine what Hector would say?"

"What would you have me do?" she yawned.

"Tell the others that I was taking a stroll with you just now- in case they ask where I was. You weren't in their presence today so they won't know you've retired early for the night."

" I really wish you wouldn't spend so much time courting Oenone…even Hector doesn't think she'd make you a good wife."

He sighed. Little Briseis was a total innocent if she actually thought that he planned to _marry_ the shepardess. "I appreciate your concern, but I can't argue with you right now- I'll explain a little more of this tomorrow. Just promise me that you'll do as I ask. It's…complicated."

"Alright."

Paris closed his eyes. He hated getting her involved with whatever mess he was in, but somehow the cycle always repeated itself. He would have to make it up to her soon.

Bending over, he kissed her forehead and rumpled her hair. "Goodnight, dearest…and thank you."

It was amazing how untouched she was in spite of her involvement in his transgressions.

When he left, Briseis sighed, sat upright and rubbed her hands on her arms to ward of the night's chill. In a way, she was thankful for his intrusion, even if finding his shadow looming above her scared her half to death at first. She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her head on them. She had been having a nightmare- the same nightmare that had been plaguing her for weeks. Once again, Paris saved her from having to suffer through it.

-

-

King Mynes of Lyrnessos was a congenial man, but there was something in his eyes that made Priam uncomfortable. He couldn't understand it- the man sitting across from him had a clean reputation and was one of the wealthiest affiliates of the Trojan royal family. And they had known each other for many years, profiting through mutual trade and strengthening the bonds of friendship in many a feast gathering. Still, there was something about Mynes that made his companion feel as if he were always one step ahead…as if he knew something was amiss and would disclose the secret only if it suited his purpose.

"More wine?" Priam offered, reaching out to fill his goblet.

"No thank you, I think it unhealthy to drink too much," Mynes smiled. " A ruler without his wits to aid him is susceptible to danger and I have it on best authority, what with that unfortunate event last month."

Priam winced. Last month, an unknown assailant made an unsuccessful attempt to assassinate Mynes.

"Did you catch the man who attacked you?"

"No, but my soldiers did," he laughed. " It was a peasant. A farmer I never even met before. He wished to speak with me, in fact. But you won't be hearing of him from now on."

"What did he wish to speak with you about?"

"I don't know. I didn't bother to stoop to his level and entertain him. My guards reported that he was quite mad- kept on ranting about me getting his little girl sick…" His voice turned cold.

"It must be the heat of summer," Priam said, uneasily. "The season can make men's blood boil. It can also cause hallucinations-look at that unfortunate fool, Salmoneus. Thought he was Zeus and was struck down by lightning after he tried to impersonate the god of thunder."

"Yes, I know. It's amazing how wrathful the gods are when it comes to punishment, yet for all that people still insist on provoking them," Mynes stroked his beard. "But the wretches get their dues when they forget their place, no?"

"Yes…yet you and I have always been devout worshippers of the gods, so we should have no problem in that area," Priam assured. Just then five slaves appeared, carrying platters of meat, fruit and cheese.

They dined silently for the next hour and Priam took the time to study his royal guest. Mynes was an average looking man of average height and build. Fine lines creased his forehead and the downward corners of his mouth, but his curly, shoulder length hair was still dark and free from white streaks of age.

Most families spoke well of him, but Priam always made it a point to judge others based on personal observation, not hearsay. From the many dealings he had had with this ruler, he could understand why others would find him impressive, despite an apparent ordinariness of appearance. Not to be weighed down by his regular features, Mynes carried himself with an aura of wealth and pride that many a richer king lacked. Perhaps this was part of the reason why he was so successful in his endeavors.

"I can see you've been studying me," Mynes said, breaking his reverie. He quirked an amused brow. "Have the years been treating me kindly? Come now, I must know what's on your mind."

Priam almost choked on a grape. "Forgive my preoccupation, nothing really escapes you, doesn't it? But to answer your question, yes. I have been looking at you…and wondering why a man such as yourself hasn't taken a wife yet? Even my eldest son is married."

Mynes smiled. This was the opening he had been waiting for. "Ah yes, it can't be helped but noticed that while I am not old, I am not getting any younger, either…I won't deny that marriage has been, until now, the least of my concerns."

" I only assumed that you were too busy to tie yourself down. But you must be in want of an heir."

"You will be surprised to know that begetting an heir ranks low in my list of priorities. I have many brothers and nephews to take care of that. In fact, the reason for my delay in marital courtship is because no woman has caught my fancy- since last week, that is."

Priam's brows drew together in confusion.

"I'm talking about your niece, Briseis."

"Briseis? You met her last year at my son's wedding."

"Yes, but I did not catch a good glimpse of her then. When I saw her last week I marveled at how she had grown- and when I spoke to her she was sweet and very lady like…"

Priam scratched his head. "And does she have feelings for you?'

"Of course, she doesn't know me enough to tell. But really, with your son's marriage being arranged I see no reason why she and I can't grow to like each other after we are wed- with your consent, that is."

"Well, that is true. But unlike most guardians, I am very…benevolent when it comes to the feelings of my kin. I wouldn't want her married unless she agreed to it. You don't know her, Mynes. When her parents were killed by that plague years ago she wouldn't speak to anyone for months. She was brought here to live with us, and she couldn't look anyone in the eye without bursting into tears. She stayed in her room, not eating. It was only after my younger son resorted to his usual tricks that she started to come around. Then they became close friends and her smiles returned." Priam rubbed his temples, trying hard to recall the unhappy years of his niece's life. "Nowadays she is merry. Those who look at her would not know a happier girl- but it is with Paris and only with Paris that she becomes herself."

"Even I couldn't help but take note of their closeness," Mynes said, a strange gleam in his eye. "I am sorry to hear of Briseis' misfortunes, but while her recovery is a good thing I must warn you. Do you think it prudent for young people their age to be exposed only to each other?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Forgive me, I had no right to insinuate- but since you and I are such good friends…" Mynes trailed off smoothly and studied the design on his wine goblet.

"Whatever is on your mind, speak. And I'll be the judge of it," Priam insisted, taking the bait.

Mynes took his cue.

"During my travels, I heard of an occasion where cousins were said to have _fallen in love_. You cannot imagine the scandal it caused the families involved- but in a way, it was no ones fault. The girl was sheltered, as Briseis is now. The boy- her _first_ cousin, was restless and lonely. They were thrown in each other's company with no supervision and before anyone knew it- she was with child."

Priam kept a steady gaze. "Where did you hear of this?"

"When I went to visit King Silenus of Paphos. His entire household couldn't talk of anything else, so I was fed with every detail of that messy affair. But I assure you, I do not think your son and niece are involved_ that way_," he finished slyly. "All I'm saying is that you should be careful. Anything can happen nowadays…and when people are lonely…_they forget themselves."_

He reached out to take a grape from the fruit platter. "Priam, it isn't right for such a girl to be cooped up in that manner, even if she is royalty. And I say this not only to advance my suit. It's simply not healthy to be with the _same young man all the time_. Whether the undesirable happens or not."

"…the _undesirable_!"

"I did not mean to use such language in your presence," Mynes patted his hand. "Once again, you must pardon me, but I cannot help myself. I am a blunt man; I've always been and always will be. I am not suggesting that you should suspect them however, only that you should have the girl…_expose_ herself more often."

"Naturally, your concern is appreciated." Priam replied, warily. "And no…I do not suspect them. The gossip you imparted about those lovers in Paphos just unsettled me…and you are right when you say that the unthinkable can happen. I remember the scandal surrounding that unfortunate king who married his _mother_, of all people." He began to get agitated. "W_hat is this world coming to_!"

"There now, don't worry yourself," his wily comrade consoled. "I can't believe such a tale could affect you to that extent, but for your peace of mind I'd suggest consulting an oracle for advice. It works all the time and you know the gods wishes must be obeyed…"

"Yes, yes…of course. I'll do that and speak to Briseis in the morning, also. To convince her to go out more often." Priam summoned the serving girls in attendance and motioned for them to approach and clear their table. As they gathered the dishes, he called out to the largest girl on his right.

"Lyssandra, you waited on Briseis last night, didn't you?" he asked her.

She curtsied respectfully and bobbed her head. "Yes sire, but I had to leave lady Briseis for a while. Mistress Andromache asked me to hold Astyanax while she bathed, since the babe is more familiar with me than with the other servants. I returned as soon as I could."

"And did Briseis sleep soundly when you came to check on her?" the old king asked. "I heard she's been having nightmares recently."

"Yes, from what I could see, your highness. And prince Paris assured me that the heat of her cheeks had nothing to do with a fever."

"_Paris_? What has he to do with all this?"

"He visited her chamber yesterday- to make sure she was doing fine, he said. I caught him in the hallway emerging from her room. And he asked me to bring her a cold towel since she was _sweaty_- from another nightmare, I presumed." The lady in waiting smiled. "Prince Paris brought her a wood carving he himself made last week. It stands on her night table. To ward of unkind spirits that bring bad dreams."

"It doesn't seem to be working though," Mynes interrupted. "If her dreams still bother her, I mean. But what an _affectionate_ gesture on his part! Almost _husbandly_, in fact." He raised his eyes brows meaningfully.

Priam stared morosely into space.

When the king of Lyrnessos caught the older man's expression, he laughed. "Don't think too much on it, my friend. I can only remark on your son's kindness. Most men his age are inclined to think only of themselves. I imagine his _future bride_ as very lucky, indeed."

…but I really must be on my way, Priam. I've been gone for far too long."

King Priam did not respond.

"Priam?"

"What? Oh, sorry."

The monarch rose and headed towards the main hall of the palace with his guest in tow. As an exemplary host, he then saw to it that Mynes was given a load of provisions for his journey back to Lyrnessos. After the foreign king bade his farewells, Priam watched the royal chariot depart and leave the grounds of the Trojan castle.

He frowned into the distance, thinking. The earlier gossip had worried him, but for slightly different reasons. While marriage between relatives wasn't exactly rare in most families, his niece and son were practically siblings. But Priam's unease with regards to an affair between the two had more to do with _Paris_ than anything else.

He loved his son, but he also knew him to be a _consistent philanderer_, fluttering from one woman to the next as a butterfly made its rounds among the flowers. The image of Briseis, barefoot and pregnant- accompanied by another image of a bored Paris refusing to settle down, was enough to make the old man ill.

Briseis was a clever girl, yet it could not be denied that she adored Paris. He remembered Mynes' earlier words.

_They forget themselves._

-

-

_Thessaly_

The boy entered the tent and peered around nervously. His only encounter with the king of Phtia had been that day he spied him from afar, giving his men a training session in preparation for the encounter with the Thessalonian army. The speed at which the warlord moved was remarkable; just one glimpse of him in action was enough to convince a spectator that the man had to be at least half a god. Was he related to Ares? They said he was born to end lives and from the looks of it, they were right.

Achilles lay on the mattress in the corner of the tent, accompanied by two whores given to him the night before. The boy tried to ignore the shocking display of nudity before him, and he timidly approached the sleeping threesome, careful not to make any noise.

Before he was able to tap him on the shoulder, Achilles hand shot out and grabbed the young intruder by the sleeve of his robe. The boy gasped. Did the man ever sleep? Two piercing eyes then arrested him, narrowing in the darkness. The child was instantly reminded of a large predator toying with its prey.

"I was having a dream," the warrior said, gruffly. He glanced behind him and considered his sleeping bed partners, one of whom had her arm draped over his back. "…A very good dream."

"King…King Agamemnon sent me," the boy whispered, a tremor in his voice. "He wishes for you to-"

"I'll speak to your king in the morning," Achilles muttered irritably, getting ready to doze off once more.

"…but my lord, it _is_ morning."

Achilles froze at the news that he had overslept. In a second, he roughly flung the woman's arm off his back and stood up, ready to face the oncoming battle. "Hand me my armor," he ordered.

In a few minutes, he was fully dressed and out of the tent.

The boy finally forgot his initial shyness and fear of the man and- like all children- his curiosity won out for the meantime. "…Sir, they say your mother is an immortal goddess. They say you can't be killed," he started, watching the warlord sit astride his stallion.

Achilles was tired from having to answer such questions, but for some reason the boy didn't annoy him as much as Agamemnon and his sniveling cohorts did. "…If I couldn't be killed I wouldn't be bothering with a shield now, would I?" he replied tersely, nodding for his shield to be handed over.

"That warrior you'll be fighting," the boy continued, his eyes wide at the thought of the giant who represented Thessaly, "he's the largest man I've ever seen. I wouldn't want to fight him."

Achilles looked at the awestruck lad, amused. The child could be no more than ten summers, but even in his state of fear, he seemed to have more courage than the _buffoon_ who had the audacity to have the leader of the Myrmidons summoned.

"That's why no one will remember your name."

-

-

"_WHAT ON EARTH IS TAKING HIM SO LONG!"_ Agamemnon spat on the ground. "Does he think this is a game?"

"Perhaps we should give Achilles a few more minutes," Nestor suggested. "The Thessalonians don't seem to mind the wait…"

"That's because they're LAUGHING at me!" the Mycenaean king snapped, gesturing to the army at the opposite side of the field. "They think I've hired a coward to fight, and that he's now fled at the sight of that big brute!"

Nestor rolled his eyes. The gods were having a field day if they were watching _this_.

"Oh, I CURSE the day I asked him to come with us!" Agamemnon ranted, his face growing red in anger.

"You didn't ask him, _I did,_" Nestor pointed out. "Otherwise, you would've had Odysseus convince him, except that he was busy with other matters and couldn't join the assembly you held back then."

"…I'm sure even Ajax could've been a worthy substitute…"Agamemnon cried, ignoring his most trusted advisor, " at least HE wouldn't have embarrassed ME this way!"

"Your humiliation won't last long," Nestor said, tapping him on the shoulder, "your favorite has arrived."

The Greek army suddenly livened up and cheered. Achilles was riding towards them in a chariot, looking bored and contemptuous, as usual.

Agamemnon immediately composed himself. He wouldn't let the _swaggering braggart_ see how his presence meant so much to the king of Mycenae!

"Perhaps we should have our war tomorrow, when you are better rested," he called out to the muscular soldier approaching the front of the line, his tone snide. Achilles gave him a cold look and continued walking forward, his sword and shield at hand. His indifference only hastened Agamemnon's rising temper.

"…_IF YOU WERE MY SOLDIER I WOULD HAVE HAD YOU WHIPPED FOR YOUR INSOLENCE!"_

Achilles stopped in his tracks. So, the _fat bastard_ actually thought that he could win this war without him? After traveling hundreds of miles from Phtia and slaying many of Greece's enemies- this pitiful excuse for a king still had no idea how to address his _betters_. He raised a well-arched brow at an infuriated Agamemnon and looked at him with great amusement.

"Perhaps _you_ should fight him," Achilles said smoothly, and turned around. He envisioned Agamemnon's head on the giant's spear.

_Satisfying._

"Achilles," Nestor panted, approaching him. "Look at the men's faces. They're counting on you to fight the giant, Boagrius. You can end this war with a swing of your sword. Let them live and go home to their wives."

_Leave it to Nestor to spoil my pleasure_, Achilles mused. But the old man made more sense than anyone he knew, save for Odysseus. He turned back and eyed Agamemnon with haughty disdain.

"Imagine a king who fights his own battles," he taunted, smirking. "Wouldn't that be a sight?"

He then struck his spear into the ground and went ready for the kill.

The giant didn't know what hit him.

_(To be continued…)_

-

-

Authors note: So I've finally added a scene from the movie here, but please don't expect this too often. I don't want to follow Troy script word-for-word and I already have a vague idea where this fic is headed. Also, I'd like to comment on the 'cousins' issue that was addressed…in ancient Greece, it was common for relatives to get married. As mentioned, Priam's worry has more to do with Paris' immaturity and the consequences it may bring. And don't we all know it? .


	3. Please03

_The Royal House of Troy _

"I can't stand it when you just sit there with that pensive look on your face," Paris complained. "It makes me feel left out- as if you're thinking of something I'm not privy to."

"Hmm? What is it?," Briseis said, focusing attention on her distraught cousin. It was a halcyon day, perfect for a walk in Troy's gardens but for once her mind dwelled not on the beauty of the rows of rose bushes decorating the side of the palace, or the squawking of ducks that swam on a distant pond of the property. If Paris' knew what occupied her thoughts that afternoon, he'd definitely make an issue of it.

"You're angry with me, aren't you?" he questioned anxiously. "Because I made you lie to father and the rest about my whereabouts the other day."

She sighed, "No, it's not that. Besides, no amount of lying works on Hector and Andromache anymore. I think they knew where you were, despite my fabrication...in fact, after I finished my account of how you managed to save that little mare, Hector immediately looked at his wife and raised his eyebrows."

"You're a terrible liar, my dear," he admonished, "you could've told them I was practicing archery and got carried away. That would've been more convincing."

"But that was the excuse I used last month when you secretly went to that festival, and also the month before that when you were courting that talented weaver," she reminded him. "I can't say the same thing every time you steal away."

"You're right about that," he conceded, "I suppose even reciting falsehood requires a bit of imagination- lest it gets boring...but really, Briseis. _Rescued that little mare?_"

Briseis studied the scratches on the wooden bench they were sitting on. "I just can't _lie properly_ when Hector looks at me with that penetrating gaze of his. It's as if he knows what you're planning to do even before you do it."

"That's a talent he perfected when we were young. I swear on my mother's grave- my older brother has a skill for mind reading."

"But Paris, it's not so much about his talent for reading minds," she said. "You must admit that you also have the tendency to be an open book where he's concerned."

"I can't help what I am, sweet," he said, as he plucked a flower from its bush and brandished it on her nose. "Now that we've dispensed with that, lets discuss the _occasional diversions of _minewhich bother you."

"You mean, the lady friends you visit every now and then?

"Precisely." Paris had been waiting for this moment ever since his attraction to the opposite sex began. Although he was oblivious to what others said of him, he knew Briseis raised objections against the number of times he changed bed partners. Being his supreme confidant, as well as the one he turned to whenever an alibi was needed, she was entitled to some sort of explanation. An explanation made as delicate as possible, so as not to offend the sensibilities of a young, unmarried woman.

"I'm a man, Briseis."

"_Really_?" she teased. She stopped smiling when he glared at her.

"...And as a man I have certain _urges_," he continued, cursing inwardly. This was a bad beginning.

"_Urges_. Those, which are shared between husband and wife when they want to produce an heir," Briseis recited, parroting that part of Andromache's speech perfectly.

"Yes...and no. You don't have to be married to _share them_ but it is scandalous- if you are an_ unmarried woman_, that is." He rambled on. "...And if you _are_ married, you must involve yourself with your husband only- and with no one else!"

"That's also what Andromache said," Briseis recalled, "and while I may not know all the details of what goes on between man and wife- and I'm not sure if I _want to know_- I'm not entirely ignorant of men's ways before they get married."

Paris wasn't sure whether to be worried or relieved. "So you know that my roaming has more to do with restlessness than searching for a bride, then?"

She studied the flower he handed out, her fingers grazing over the pink lushness of its petals. "It took awhile for me to realize that you had no serious intentions towards Oenone and the rest of your admirers." She looked up at him with an expression on her face that was a cross between concern and curiosity. " I just don't understand how all of this- _these urges_- can cure your restlessness."

"Every man goes through it, Briseis. I'm not the only one." Paris ran a hand through his hair in agitation. "Do you really think Hector was a saint before he met Andromache? I don't want to ruin my brother's good name but you must allow me to defend myself. It's common for men to _court_ more than one woman before they find that 'one true love'. It's in our nature to be carefree, wild, and- to sample the delights this world has to offer...that includes the women."

"I know that, Paris." She said softly, reaching out to touch his curly hair in a gesture of affection. "I've just never understood the why...or the _how_ of it."

"Why we must do it? And how it cures our boredom, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Your answers should be obvious. What do you do when you're tired of palace life?"

"I go to the temple and pray to Apollo."

He rolled his eyes. "Other than that, I mean."

"I spend time with you and the family."

Paris gave up. It was no use comparing his lifestyle with hers. He was a man, after all. Able to go out and explore new places. She on the other hand, wouldn't be allowed outside the palace grounds without the proper escort. _Save for the couple of times he secretly dragged her along with him during one of his infamous escapades._

"The point is," he emphasized. "I enjoy female companionship as much as they enjoy mine, and I have no intention of giving up my haunts until I am settled." He tipped her chin up. "You mustn't worry about where I go or what I do from now on. Just remember that it _makes me happy_ and relieves my monotony- and that I'd surely go mad without it."

"Strange though," Briseis whispered, turning her face away from his.

"What is?"

"This cycle you speak of. Going from one woman to the next..._that in itself, is monotonous_." She turned away from him. "I suppose one pretty face can't satisfy you for now. But Paris, for all the _earthly delights_ you've sampled, you are as bored and restless as ever ..."

Paris could not find a suitable reply to this. It was eerie how she sounded like his father when she was pensive. They took a second to watch a butterfly land on a white daisy. After skimming the surface of the blossom, it flew away, only to swoop down on a neighboring flower.

"...It seems to me then, that it won't make much difference whether you choose to linger with a lady or a whole group of ladies, since you aren't satisfied either way."

"I can't give the chase up, nonetheless." he finished, guiltily. "And I hope you can accept me, in spite of it."

"I've already gotten used to what you've been doing." She shook her head. "I've wondered about your _pastimes_ for a bit- and this may come as a surprise, but I'm not as bothered about them now as you think I am."

"Then why all the mood swings? You were cheerful last week, now you lapse into trances."

She hesitated for a moment. "Actually, your situation was far from my mind when you called my attention."

"What was troubling you, then?"

"Uncle Priam spoke to me the other day. He wanted to know which of my suitors I fancied."

The young prince was at a loss for words. He was so certain that his comings and goings were what preoccupied her lately, and the discovery that it was just the opposite was like a bolt from heaven. Paris recovered himself in an instant though, and his voice was cold when he spoke. "Oh I see. And is there someone in particular that you, er, _fancy_?"

"That's exactly the problem. I do not know who to choose." Briseis sighed. "I feel so ungrateful, really. Many girls don't have the luxury of picking a husband- and uncle is so kind to care about my feelings. Yet I know I must decide soon- or end up a spinster forever."

"Nonsense. How old are you now?"

"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen in a month."

"That's too young for marriage. Andromache was twenty three when she and Hector were wed."

"But that's because she was busy taking care of her mother, who was ill for years. If it weren't for that, her engagement to Hector wouldn't have lasted longer than needed."

"Rubbish."

"...And Paris, you know that sixteen is the ideal age for marriage. Most suitors prefer younger brides," she went on hastily, ignoring his remark. "My maid said that it has to do with child bearing and that the younger a wife is, the easier the labor will be for her."

When he said nothing, Briseis looked at him and saw that he was scowling at an unknown spot in the bushes.

"Paris?" She waved her fingers in front of him. "Are you alright?"

To her astonishment, he brushed her hand aside, stood up suddenly and left the gardens- making a beeline towards the palace's inner courtyard.

"Paris? Wait!" she cried out, getting up to follow him...she had a feeling this would happen. His stride was much larger than hers, and it took awhile before she caught up to him.

"What's wrong?" she panted, clutching his sleeve.

"Nothing. The heat of the sun makes me lightheaded, is all," he muttered. They had reached the inner courtyard where servants and errand boys passed by, carrying large baskets of cloth and vats of warm water for the daily cleaning. Paris ignored the servants as they bowed to him and continued walking, heading straight towards the palace kitchens and into the main hall.

"But Paris, you said awhile ago that we were to take a walk, and that you'd show me the silver handled bow and arrow you received as a gift from Hector last week." Briseis reminded him. "Is...is this because of my problem? Because I won't bother you with my girlish concerns if you-"

"Of course not," Paris said, turning around to regard her. "I just remembered that I needed to talk to father about... about the preparations for the weekly hunt. Now see here-" he called to a servant girl passing by.

"Yes, sire?" the girl curtsied respectfully, balancing a plate of grapes with one hand and an armful of laundry with the other.

"Who is this for?" he asked, gesturing towards the sweet smelling fruit.

"It's for the evening meal, sir. I was just delivering it to the banquet hall"

"You'll have to fetch another one in its place." With that, he grabbed the fruit plate and shoved it to Briseis. "This goes to my poor cousin, who is exceptionally pale at the moment and is in need of refreshment."

Briseis' mouth opened in shock. "But Paris I-"

"Don't argue with me, my dear," he interrupted, " I have important matters to discuss with father. Now, have your fill of this and take a nice, long nap after. I'll see you at dinner when you're feeling better."

Having said that, he left her in the middle of the hallway, the plate of grapes forgotten in the palm of her hand as she stared at him.

There were moments when Briseis swore that madness ran in their family.

* * *

* * *

Priam and Hector looked up from the scrolls they were browsing when an angry Paris entered the king's inner throne room.

"Father, may I speak to you for a moment? If you're not busy, that is."

"What is it, Paris?"

Paris nodded at Hector apologetically. "Is it alright if I have a word with father in private? This won't take long."

Hector looked affronted. Normally, his younger brother shared everything with him. Unless it had to do with some trouble he had caused- in which case, Paris would be more likely to avoid him knowing that he was even stricter than Priam himself. _That must be it_, Hector thought dismally.

"Very well, but don't take too long. I'll be back in a few minutes," he said, leaving the room.

Once the king and his youngest son were alone, Paris took a deep breath. "It's about Briseis."

Priam leaned back in his seat. He knew he would be reproached on the subject.

"What about her?"

"She told me that you asked her to consider one of her suitors."

"I have. Briseis is young, but not too young to ignore a woman's true calling."

"I'm just a little concerned," Paris replied, his voice turning sour, " is it so strange for me to want to know which man ranks high on her list? She and I have been inseparable since childhood, after all."

"Speaking of lists," Priam said, ignoring his son's penchant for drama, "I've made one of my own." He pulled out a faded scroll from underneath the recent stack he had been perusing. "Take a good look. I'd like your opinion on the subject when you are done with it."

A few seconds was all it took for the prince to scan the writing on the parchment and gape appallingly at his sire. "Father, you can't be serious?!!"

"I am. Time is precious and cannot afford to be wasted."

"You intend to force Briseis to marry one of these men?!"

"No, not force," the king protested. "I told her I would respect her feelings on the matter. I merely listed who I believed to be the best of men who have come calling. Five from the original ten suitors who have visited me for the past years, all claiming to love Briseis and vowing to make her a joyful bride."

Paris stared at him in disbelief.

"...I was hoping to persuade her to choose who she wanted. These men are not only wealthy but well connected and have good reputations."

"Anyone can have a good reputation, for as long as he has the gold to pay for it," Paris muttered, eyeing the list distastefully. "Now lets see...the first name you have here is Prince Erebus of Thebes."

"A fine gentleman," Priam said with conviction. "We've known his family for years. He is a generous fellow, sure to treat Briseis kindly and give her whatever her heart desires."

"If she lives but one day after the wedding, that is," Paris said.

"What do you mean?"

I do not intend to insult your friend, father...but the fellow is so large that he is likely to crush her on their wedding night!"

Priam turned red in outrage. "Now Paris, that's very-"

"But think about it, father. What young woman wants to make love with a man _five times_ her weight? You say you'd like to consider her feelings but this truly speaks otherwise!"

The king sighed wearily. "Alright, you may have a point. But what of the others on the list?"

"Well, here they are. The next name written is King Antineous of Athens, who is neither too fat nor too thin...but I'm afraid he's too old for Briseis. The poor girl will be a widow even before she becomes a wife. The King is a true gentleman, I have no doubt of it. He is also likely to fall and harden any moment now."

"What of Prince Helenos of Athens then?" Priam snapped, insulted because the aforementioned suitor was only a few years younger than himself. "Helenos is young, handsome, wealthy and very likeable. He also wins many chariot races, swordfights and not to mention is a very skilled archer. Why, he even managed to defeat _you_ in a previous contest, didn't he?"

"How could I forget that event? You are right about Helenos, though. The prince would have been my personal choice for Briseis...if he didn't prefer the company of _young boys_ to young women, that is."

Priam closed his eyes. "You can't expect a perfect suitor, Paris."

"I don't. I only expect the _best_. This is Briseis we are talking about."

"...Who is next on the list?"

"Prince Anaximander of Paphos."

"Ah," Priam brightened, "he has all the qualities of Helenos but I can assure you that he loves women aplenty. He vowed he would make a fine husband. Briseis would be greatly blessed if she were to marry him."

"If she can stomach all his philandering. The man is an consummate lecher." Paris crowed, triumphantly. "In other words...he is _just like me_."

"Most men have mistresses on the side," Priam argued. "It is common and accepted by many wives for as long as they are treated respectfully by their husbands. You can't use that as a mark against him."

"I agree but Anaximander is a special case. I have it on best authority that he insists on bedding a different concubine for every day of the week. Think about the repercussions, my lord. Briseis would not only have stiff competition but several threats to her status as princess and eventually, queen. It is not _uncommon_ for a mistress to plot to take over a true wife's place, as it is for a man to divorce his wife in favor of another. We couldn't let that happen to Briseis now, could we?"

Priam was losing his patience. "You make an excellent case against him Paris, but do you realize that in pointing out Anaximander's flaws, you've just described yourself in the process?"

Paris brushed this off with a shrug. "I've had my cravings but I'm definitely not as bad as he is."

"The last name on the list is King Mynes of Lyrnessos," Priam said, a strange light in his voice. "He is neither too old nor too young. He is neither slim nor large as to be unappealing. He is not a 'lecher', as you so bluntly put it. He does not prefer the company of men to women. Moreover, he is generally well liked and has a clean reputation."

Paris squinted at the last name in surprised displeasure. "I thought Mynes did not plan to marry?"

"He changed his mind, apparently. I talked to him last week when he relayed his suit."

"What made him change his mind?"

"Not what. _Who_. Lord Mynes fell for Briseis when he saw her a few weeks ago. In fact, he proclaimed that he always believed that affection should play a part in marriage, even if it is arranged. Which is why he never considered marrying 'til he met a woman who he felt could make him happy and who he could make happy in return."

"We don't know if he can make her happy, father."

"That is what the period of courtship is for. A stage for both of them to decide whether they are compatible or not. All I have to do is give permission for the man to come and visit. Briseis can take as long as she pleases in looking him over to decide."

"...I don't like him."

"What is the matter, now? What about Mynes do you find objectionable?"

"The look in his eye when he speaks. It makes me uneasy," Paris glared.

"Intelligent men often have a weary, cynical glance which can be intimidating to those unfamiliar with them. Still, it is no reason to discount their favors when they come to court."

"I don't like the way he fingers his food and holds the stem of his wine goblet, either."

"The way he fingers-" Priam sputtered. "_You_ aren't going to marry him, Paris. How he dines is of no concern to you-and you're not being particularly helpful either! I thought that your closeness to Briseis would render invaluable opinion from your end but that doesn't seem to be the case-"

"Father, you know that Briseis' welfare is all I think about-"

"If that is so, then do her a favor and MARRY HER YOURSELF! Since none of her suitors are good enough for _you_, as you've made it clear just now."

Open-mouthed, Paris stared at King Priam as if he had gone mad. Several seconds came and went, but neither one of them moved. Finally, Paris took the initiative and slowly, shook his head. "Father, are you serious?"

"I am. You are a constant philanderer but I don't believe you have it in you to hurt your cousin. If it were any other girl but Briseis, I'd be worried," Priam said, softly. "I think there is a chance you may straighten out if you were to wed her...think about it."

Paris shook his head. "You don't know what you are saying."

Thoughtfully, Priam watched his son leave the room.

* * *

* * *

_A few days later..._

Briseis watched Andromache bathe her baby amidst the warm glow of the chamber's candlelight. The tub filled with hot water was too small to contain the robust infant, who was exceptionally large for his size and it took the combined efforts of his mother, his aunt and a servant girl to wash him almost everyday. True enough, Astyanax was already splashing about, making noises and spilling water everywhere.

"What was giving birth like?" Briseis asked suddenly, reaching for the mixture of boiled tallow and ashes to scrub the baby.

"Like?" Andromache echoed, surprised at the sudden choice of topic. Briseis had been quiet for the past week or two. Andromache suspected that it had to do with Priam's urging the girl to choose a suitor. "Well, it is a heavy business, I assure you. Quite painful, as well."

She leaned down and tickled Astyanax's belly. The infant gurgled with pleasure.

"But this little one made up for it. He was so large I was sure I'd be ripped apart!-"

Briseis paled in consternation.

"The delivery went along smoothly," Andromache continued. "My husband was more afraid than I was, actually. He was afraid something would go wrong and that he would lose me." She began to laugh. "I remember him shouting at the midwife from the _other_ room, demanding that I be made more comfortable...and my labor pains hadn't even begun yet!"

How like Hector to be overprotective where his family was concerned, Briseis thought. "You're lucky to have him, Andromache, and this baby, too," she said, gently pinching Astyanax's cheek, "yet I don't envy you. In fact, I can't picture myself settled down, wedded and with child- not even in my dreams at night."

Andromache laughed. "That's exactly what I told myself before! Things are different when you are a maiden Briseis, but when the time comes I'm sure you'll be more favorable towards marriage."

The younger girl shook her head. "I don't know. I'm just so happy here, with you and the rest. The thought of someone taking me away makes me not want to marry at all."

"It's always like that in the beginning," Andromache said. "Do you remember the eve of my wedding, when my family brought me here? I was terrified then, and I cried the night before. But as of now, I wouldn't exchange this family for anything else in the world."

"You were not only confident but elegant when you stepped down the royal chariot that night," Briseis recalled, dubiously. "We all approved as soon a we laid eyes on you and I daresay that Hector was smitten by the end of the wedding feast."

"My confidence was a mere act, as I was trained not to show my feelings when presented in court," Andromache explained, patting Briseis on her shoulder. "Don't fret too much. Besides, aren't you the least bit excited about experiencing your first love? Your first kiss? Mine was quite memorable, you know."

"It does sound appealing," Briseis mused, "but for some reason I'd rather that you, Hector and Paris do all the _lovering_ while I sit back and watch."

Andromache stared at her, open mouthed. "Wh-what?!"

Briseis averted her eyes. "I'm sorry, but somehow I can't...I just can't see myself with a man that way. No matter how exciting the prospect is. The thought of me with one of my suitors, behaving the way you and Hector do- makes me feel rather stupid."

"...So I'd rather that every man and woman wallow in their happiness while I look on, content with _their contentment_." Briseis continued, avoiding Andromache's gaze. "It's much simpler that way, not to mention safe."

"That is a selfless notion," Andromache said, "but I don't see the harm in-"

She was cut off when Astyanax squirmed restlessly in her arms. "Oh heavens, he'll be as wrinkled as a fig if I don't get him out of this tub!" She handed the infant to the servant girl standing attentively over them and got up, stretching from her cramped position on the floor. "I must see to the preparations for the morning meal now. Do you want to accompany me to the kitchens?"

Briseis shook her head, depositing the soap and bathing towels into a basket beside them. "I'd like to help but I really should be getting back. Uncle Priam expects me to be burning incense by the family shrine before sunrise tomorrow. He said we needed to make another sacrifice to the sun god."

Andromache frowned. "I mean no disrespect, but didn't you already have a quiet ceremony yesterday?"

"Yes, but a messenger arrived a few hours ago. He carried news about a possible assault from Sparta. I think this offering might be connected with it."

"That's probably why Hector plans on hunting at dawn as well," Andromache said. "He also mentioned that he needed to speak with me tonight. I hope it isn't serious."

"The gods will protect us if it is," Briseis said, trying to lighten the situation. "And unless someone desecrates Apollo's statue in the main temple of our city, I see no reason for worry on our part."

* * *

* * *

The offering made to Apollo the next day lasted for less than half an hour but it was something of a revelation on Briseis' end. She could not isolate the exact moment when the notion occurred to her, but she believed the idea to be a sound and practical one. Glancing sideways at her uncle, who was still reciting the last verses of his prayers, she waited for the moment when she could approach him. A part of her warned not to trouble the old king with the suggestion- not now when possible dispute with the Spartans was abroad, yet another part of her was convinced that not only would Priam agree to her request but he would also approve, given his devotion to the gods.

Priam finished his prayers and turned to his niece, smiling. "You've been wanting to speak to me, my dear?"

Briseis flushed. "I have been thinking, uncle...about what you asked of me a week ago. And I have come to a decision...only with your approval, of course."

"And what is it?"

Briseis came closer and whispered a question in his ear. Priam's eyes widened in surprise as soon as it was uttered, but he did not seem angry. "My girl, are you sure you want that? It's only been a week whereas I gave you a month to decide."

"Yes, uncle." She looked at him imploringly. "It is not a common route but you said that inspiration comes in the blink of an eye...which is precisely what happened to me as we made this offering. I looked into the statue's eyes and the calling took root in me."

"Would it make you happy, to live that kind of life? It is often solitary and you won't have the family every girl longs for."

"But I already have the family I long for," Briseis said. "I don't want any other in its place...and I am not alone. I have you and Hector and Paris and Andromache to keep me happy. That is all I could ever want."

"What of your suitors? Is there none among them that you fancy?" Priam could not contain his curiosity. For a girl to voluntarily choose such a path when she was not yet twenty summers was a rare occasion. Often, village maids were forced by their religious sires to take up the occupation of serving the sun god...they did not make the decision themselves.

"They are all amiable and kind," Briseis began, feeling ungrateful. "Their consideration of me is very flattering, but I am certain I would not make as fine a wife as Andromache...why, I do not think I would make a suitable wife at all!"

"Now, don't be too hard on yourself," Priam said. "If this is because of the trouble you and Paris get into, let me tell you that I consider none of it your fault. Your only error is in judgment...you are too agreeable when Paris asks something of you without realizing it. Other than that, I believe that you are far too conscientious to hurt anyone or anything."

"Uncle, you are too kind..." Briseis turned to the altar, where their burnt offering kindled in smoke and ash. "But this is not due to an imagined self-inadequacy. I really do think it best for me. To serve the gods like you every morning. To wake up, knowing that my prayers contribute to the welfare of Troy."

"Well, I won't force you into a life you don't wish for," Priam replied, impressed by her fervent speech. "But all the same, you may still change your mind... anytime before the religious robes are placed on your shoulders, that is."

He embraced her and left for his throne room.

Briseis sighed with relief and turned to smile at the carved figure of the sun god before the offering. She was especially thankful that her uncle's religious side had taken over by the end of their conversation, and that he raised no objections to how she planned to live the rest of her life. She picked up a nearby cloth and began to wipe away the excess amount of ashes on the altar.

"If you scrubbed any harder, we wouldn't have a family altar left," said a voice to her right. She jumped back in surprise and turned to face a thoughtful Paris.

"I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me that way," Briseis scolded, "if I was holding an urn, I would have no one but you to blame if I dropped it."

"But you're not holding a urn," Paris replied illogically, gesturing to the cloth she was wiping the table with. "In any case, it was a matter of urgency that brought me here. Otherwise, I would've accompanied Hector to the stables a while ago. "

Briseis looked at him uneasily. They had been cavorting as always for the past week or so but in the midst of their long walks and playful banter, she sensed an inner turmoil about him. He would occasionally grow silent and when they were busy with their individual tasks- he, practicing with his bow and arrow and she, mending some of her robes nearby- she swore that he secretly watched her from the corner of his eye. Originally, she assumed that it was because he did not want her to marry soon. If that were the case, he would definitely be appeased by what just transpired between her and his father.

Other than that, it had to be a new lover he was having difficulty acquiring.

"That conversation we had a week ago enlightened me," Paris said. "Especially when you emphasized that I would never be satisfied no matter how many women I took."

"I didn't mean to sound condescending or rude, " Briseis apologized, but he silenced her by covering her mouth with the palm of his hand.

"Shhh...let me finish." Habitually, he began to pace back and forth like a restless animal. "I came to the conclusion that you're right... as usual. I've been neglecting my responsibilities for far too long, getting distracted by women I hardly know when I should be attending to other things." He stopped pacing and smiled. "So, I've decided that drastic change is required on my part. And I have you to thank for this new state of mind- you're such a good influence on me, Briseis."

"Paris, what on earth are you talking about?"

"I'm getting married!"

"...To whom? To Oenone?" Briseis asked, after a wave of dizziness washed over. She hoped that it was not the shepardess- prince or not, the family would never let Paris have the last say on _that matter_.

"No. To someone who not only father but Hector and Andromache would approve of. To someone who I would be proud to call my wife." He leaned closer. "To someone who I've known since childhood."

She stared at him blankly.

"TO YOU, dearest cousin!" he cried, getting down on one knee and clasping her small hands with his own. "It's the perfect solution to our dilemma. You don't know who to marry- you probably don't even like any of your suitors, and with good reason! They're all _unworthy_ ..."

"...I, on the other hand, need to settle down and stop philandering. Everyone says so and don't deny it! Therefore, we'd make an excellent match. We'll take Troy by the reins and our engagement will cause an even greater sensation than Hector and Andromache's."

_Complete, utter madness...that has to be it_, Briseis thought as she watched her cousin launch into his monologue. Whether it was a result of the blazing sun or a curse wished upon him by the vengeful father of one of the maids he deflowered, it was there and it was real. She knew that Paris' follies would catch up to him one day, but she never imagined how.

"Paris...are you...have you..." She reached down and felt the pulse on his throat. "Have you come down with something?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, I am not ill. I am not drunk, either. I know what I just asked of you...and I happen to think my suggestion nothing short of brilliant"

"Paris..." she began, weakly. "If this is a prank-

"I knew you'd react that way," he cried petulantly, "the idea of me settling down is unthinkable, but with you it shouldn't be such torture." Still on his knees, he grasped her hands tighter, resting the side of his face on her belly. "Think about it. If you married me, you wouldn't have to leave this place, which was your primary concern. I wouldn't have it in me to hurt you, either. I can't promise much but I'll try to be a good husband. Why, you might even be able to convert me into one of those boring, faithful spouses you see during family gatherings."

Briseis suddenly wished with all her heart that this was a prank. But when he looked up at her so earnestly, she could see that it was not.

"I...can't."

Paris quirked an eyebrow. "Can't or don't want to?"

"Both."

He stood up, a perturbed expression on his face. "Why not?"

"Because," she cried, looking away from him- hating the confrontation. "I _can't_ marry you, Paris. You...you're too much of a good friend. I don't want to lose what we already have as cousins- and you won't be happy with me, either. I'll drive you mad in our first month as man and wife. You won't-

"But I swear that I won't hurt you!" he exclaimed, "and you can't possibly drive me up the wall any more than Oenone or that weaver-woman does. Even if our marriage is practical rather than romantic- what marriage isn't? Just because we aren't lovers doesn't mean it won't work out."

"I don't want to marry, Paris. I really don't," Briseis said helplessly, watching in despair as the eagerness in his face gave way to hurt, then anger.

"Of course you do. You just don't want to marry _me_."

"That's not fair, Paris!" she exclaimed. "This is all so sudden and-

"Nothing is fair, Briseis," he said, coldly. "And this hasn't been easy for me, either. In fact, what was I thinking? You're too proud to want to settle for anyone, so why do I even bother?"

With that, he turned on his heel and left her behind...as he always did when he didn't get what he wanted.

* * *

* * *

The next few days were filled with tension. Ever since the message from Sparta arrived, various attempts were made to soothe political relations between the two kingdoms and it was finally decided that a peace mission was necessary. It was hard enough for Briseis - aside from having to endure upsetting rumors about a possible invasion, she had to contend with hostility from Paris as well. But it was difficult. Paris' usual method was to throw a tantrum when he failed to get his way. This time, he said nothing of the disastrous proposal. Truth be told, he completely ignored her after it.

"Hector, do not forget to bring at least one cart load of spices and gold with you," Priam said, during the evening meal one night. "King Menelaus has a partiality for gold and anything exotic." He furrowed his brow in concentration. "You might want to add several bottles of perfume while you are at it...for his beautiful wife, Helen."

"What of his brother, Agamemnon?" Hector asked, pouring a cupful of wine for his wife. "We should probably include him in our bearings. He influences Menelaus like no other and I have reason to believe that it is he who has been wanting to invade us for years."

"Yes, a cart of gold for him, too." Priam conceded. "Oh, and a box of pearls collected from our seas. The Spartans can use it to make the fine trinkets their women are so fond of."

"Is Menelaus' wife as beautiful as they say she is?" Andromache asked, a worried frown creasing her forehead. "I heard that her beauty rivaled that of Aphrodite herself."

"She can't be any more beautiful that you are, my love." Hector said, reaching over the dining table to affectionately squeeze his wife's hand. Andromache blushed with pleasure.

"I heard," Briseis said with fascination, "that Helen's beauty is so great that she was abducted when she was but a child...and that when she was finally rescued, suitors from all corners of Greece lined up to greet her in courtship."

"You are correct," Priam said, "it was a glorious spectacle at that time. Kings, princes and nobles from every conceivable kingdom flocked to old Lord Tyndareus' palace in hopes of being chosen as Helen's husband. I never actually witnessed the event, but my sources informed me that it was as if a goddess was being worshipped."

"It sounds romantic," Briseis laughed.

Paris finally added to the conversation. "No it isn't. Unlike _other princesses_, the famed Helen did not have the advantage of choosing a husband. Girls who do are extremely fortunate, only they do not realize it so they go about their selfish ways, scorning every suitor in their path."

Heavy silence followed.

Briseis abruptly excused herself. "I hope you don't mind, but the meal was quite filling and I think I'll retire early for the night." She turned, bowed politely to the family and quietly left the room.

Moodily, Paris watched her exit and slammed his wine goblet down in disgust. "I might as well take her lead and have my leave- the heat in this room is getting unbearable."

Priam watched his son leave in confusion. "His behavior has been questionable these days. Is there something I am not aware of?"

Hector shook his head. "It's probably because I practically had to force him to accompany me on the peace mission. You know Paris. He abhors responsibility- unless it provides him with the perfect opportunity to chase girls." He sighed and rubbed his temples. "But don't worry father, he'll get over his misery. Once we're on the ship, he'll have no choice but to enjoy a strict period of celibacy."

"I'm glad you were able to convince him to go with you," Priam said. "It's about time he learned diplomacy, and who better to teach it than his older brother."

"We should do fine if Paris can stomach the first few weeks on sea," Hector laughed. "You know how ill he gets. But I will take care of him, as always."

"I prayed for favorable winds today," Andromache whispered, "so that your journey would be swift and that your return to me would be as soon as possible. Two months sounds like forever."

Hector turned to her and grinned. "I'll miss you too, sweet." He raised her hand to his lips and gave it a soft kiss. "Hopefully, our son won't be too large when I come back."

* * *

* * *

"Would you mind explaining to me what that was all about?"

Paris looked up from his archery practice to find a concerned Andromache standing before him in the palace gardens. "What do you mean?" he asked, with a deceptively innocent face.

"You know what I'm referring to," Andromache said. "The way you spoke to Briseis last night...it was downright rude and inconsiderate! And all she does is try to please you."

"It's more complicated than you think." Paris stubbornly said, still burning with the insult of her rejection.

"Which is why the matter calls for your explanation." Andromache sat down on a nearby bench, perplexed. "I know what happened between you and Briseis."

Paris raised an eyebrow. _How like a woman to be incapable of keeping a secret!_ "I see. So she's told you how she would rather condemn herself to a life of prayer than to an arrangement with me."

"It only seems insulting when you put it that way," Andromache said, amazed at his narrow mindedness. "But it appears to me that Briseis is genuinely interested in becoming a priestess...and that it's not to escape a life with you. Can't you see that she adores you?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't fathom the idea of a young woman wanting to be alone for the rest of her existence." Paris retorted, unconvinced. "And Briseis isn't just any young woman- she's a princess, for shame! Why on earth would she want to do that?"

"I can't give you a full answer. I myself do not understand it," Andromache said, quietly. "I only know that she had it in mind even _before you proposed to her_. So now, you can see that her refusal isn't a personal attack- or even a rejection of you. And if you don't believe me, at least give her a chance to explain."

Paris said nothing for a moment.

"Paris, you've wronged her several times in the past," Andromache reminded him. "You've gotten her in trouble repeatedly, not to mention exposed her to danger when you'd have her accompany you during your nightly rounds. Yet she's always forgotten, forgiven and given you a second chance. Can't you do the same?"

"I suppose I was a tad harsh on her lately," Paris said, guilt suddenly rising in him. "I just wish she could've explained herself better when I asked her to marry me. The way she acted when it happened...gave me the impression that the idea was despicable to her."

Andromache shook her head. "The situation is far from it, actually. And she would have explained, had you given her the occasion. She told me that you stormed off when she refused, and that when she tried to approach you a few days later you brushed her off entirely."

Paris flushed in self-reproach. "You're right about that..." He looked up, worried. "I'll have to fix what I've undone, then. And deliver an apology to top it off."

Andromache smiled. "I agree. I also think that now is the right time to do it." She gestured to her right and to Paris' shock, Briseis stepped out quietly from the bushes a few feet away from them.

"I'd best be going now," Andromache said, and she left the pair to themselves with that.

* * *

* * *

"So..." Paris began, feeling uncomfortable. "You asked Andromache to intervene on your behalf."

Briseis nodded. "I couldn't think of anything else. You wouldn't talk to me, Hector and Uncle Priam were too busy discussing matters of the state to bother with this sort of problem and Andromache was the only person I could confide in during that period when you would head for the opposite direction once you saw me coming."

Paris sighed. "I'm truly sorry. I really should learn to control my temper."

Briseis agreed, and much too quickly. "You should also remember that it's rude to leave a lady standing alone when you've just scolded her. Even rejections must be handled with grace...else others might think that you are not the son of a king."

'You've made your point," Paris smiled weakly. "I promise I won't do it again. Leave you without giving you a chance to explain your side of the affair, I mean."

"...but tell me Briseis," he continued, peering at her curiously, "when did it occur to you that you wanted to become a priestess?"

"It was during the sacrificial rites to Apollo a few days ago, when we first received the distressing news from Sparta," she replied. "I've always admired the priesthood. It just never occurred to me that I wanted to become a part of it. But when we spread the slain deer on the altar and put it on fire, there was a moment when I looked into the eyes of the sun god's statue- and it all fell into place."

Smiling, she tipped her head up to meet his gaze. "Being unable to start a new family doesn't bother me, for as long as I can keep this one."

"You're more admirable than I thought," Paris said in disbelief. "Having to give up women for even two months is enough to get me disagreeable- yet you plan on foregoing the entire marital scheme for a lifetime." He ruefully returned her smile. "I was wrong to have asked you to marry me, by the way. Not that I don't think you'd make an exceptional wife." He rumpled her hair playfully. "I'm just not ready to settle down yet. Still, I wanted to save you from a fate with any one of your obnoxious suitors."

"None of them are obnoxious, Paris," she protested. "I just don't want any of them."

"Smart girl!" he said, his disposition turning merry once again. "You have no idea what I would've done if you decided on one of them!"

"You judge them too harshly," she admonished. "Their only mistake was in hoping that I'd be capable of appreciating their merits."

"Trust me, Briseis," Paris scoffed. "When you enter into an engagement- that is, if you change your mind about remaining a virgin- you should only settle for the best and nothing else. You'll be miserable, otherwise."

"Is that why you haven't fallen in love yet?" she teased. "Your high standards could be the only reason, as I doubt in your having secret aspirations towards becoming a priest yourself."

"My dear, beautiful cousin," he replied, taking her arm to escort her back to the palace. "When I finally choose a bride, you can be sure that she will be extraordinary." He paused to pick a red flower from a nearby bush, immediately handing it to her after inhaling its fragrance. " I doubt if I'll have as much fun with her as I do with you and Hector, but believe me when I say that there will be no one quite like her."

_to be continued..._

* * *

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait...but at least this chapter's longer than the rest! I'm sure you've also noticed that this installation is completely Trojan. Achilles comes back in the next chapter, for those who already miss him. I just wanted to focus on the Trojans for now, since you won't be seeing them for a while once the focus of the story shifts to Achilles/Briseis.

Also, here's my latest Troy fan art. It's a Paris-Briseis cg located at www(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)view(slash)9770848


	4. Please04

Dearest Cousin,

Are you not surprised to hear from me this early? Truth to tell, seasickness kept me from writing you during the first few days of my voyage, but thankfully, Hector brought an herbal remedy which cured my ailment in no time. The news is the same. For the first few weeks I saw nothing but water, water and more water across my horizon. We'd have fish in the morning, fish in the afternoon and fish in the evening to sustain us. Hector gives me a sparring session every now and then, but I'm afraid I still have a long way to go before becoming an expert as he. Not that I'd want to, anyway. And besides…sparring in a moving ship gives me a headache.

Well, do you envy me now?

You told me you'd give anything for a chance to travel but believe me when I tell you that I'd trade places with you just this once for a decent meal. I am quite tired of fish.

I'm afraid this is all I can tell you for now. I don't want to risk boring you with a description of the seas and islands surrounding Troy- they all look the same to me.

We should be reaching our destination in a month's time, so if you wish to respond to this letter be sure to send out the carrier pigeon at least 2 weeks from the day that you receive this. The clever little bird knows where to find Menelaus' palace, as it has relayed messages there before. I will inform his men to expect your note…but do not forget to address it to me.

Dutifully,

Your beloved Paris.

* * *

Dearest Paris,

What you call a burden sounds like an adventure to me. I wish I could visit Sparta! I've heard a great many things about it- that the king is generous and good, and that his wife is exceptionally beautiful. You should have no trouble accomplishing your peace mission, and I imagine Hector relieved and eager to go home. Andromache misses him already.

I do not have it as bad as you would think. I've been well received by Apollo's priests and have been spending more time at the temple as of late, getting used to my new role as priestess. My fear was great when I was presented before Khryses, the high priest, but he has been nothing but kind and tolerant of my first few mistakes. I am quite comfortable here now, and thankful for being allowed to visit the family. The temple will become my permanent home by the end of the week, but I promise to visit you no less than twice a month. In fact, I shall be one of the first to greet you when you arrive from your journey.

Do write soon, and inform king Menelaus' palace guards to expect the white carrier pigeon with the black spot on its chest.

Briseis

* * *

Dearest Paris,

The carrier pigeon I've sent came back just yesterday but with no note attached to its leg. I can only assume that my first letter was received but that you have not deigned to reply. I do not blame you. I am sure your crew has already reached Sparta at this later date, and that you are still getting used to the new surroundings within Menelaus' home.

My quarters are located at the temple now, and its inner chambers are larger than expected. This is well and good, as I have a lovely room and a comfortable bed, which remind me of the ones I left behind. Everyday is a ritual. We begin our mornings with an offering, after which Khryses gathers us together for daily instruction. We are required to clean the temple at least twice a week- but this task is far from difficult as there are plenty of us to share in the duties. Most of the day is spent in prayer and meditation and the evenings end with another formal ceremony.

I have also made a new acquaintance in the head priest's daughter. Her name is Chryseis, and she is a few years older than I. She is a well-mannered and virtuous girl. I have the distinct impression that she was trained since birth to serve the gods as her father had been. Perhaps it is her formal way of speaking. She approaches me only about the work to be done, and seems reluctant to talk about anything unrelated to our duties at the temple.

There is also another situation I wish to inform you of, and I fear that you will not like it, for it is delicate.

Oenone has been visiting me for the past week or two, inquiring as to your whereabouts. She told me that you promised to marry her, and is quite insistent that I make this known to you. I told her that you were to return by the end of this month, and that she should take the matter up with you herself, unaware as I am of your present standing. Do tell me what to do. I have no idea what to say to her when she comes calling.

Briseis

* * *

* * *

_The temple of Apollo, across the shore from the sea surrounding Troy_

Briseis sighed and stared out the window overlooking the beach of Troy. A month had passed, yet there were no replies to the letters she had previously sent. _But that is the way with politics_, she thought, and then frowned. Somehow, she found it hard to imagine Paris busy with matters of the state. He was always one to instigate gossip, if anything. The fact that he had not written, or fed her with marvelous descriptions of Sparta and the kingdom's royal couple gave her pause. _Perhaps I am worrying too much_, she thought. _After all, he has Hector on his side_.

The sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway outside alerted her, and in a few moments she beheld Chryseis on the threshold of her room.

Chryseis was an attractive girl of medium height and slender build. Her hair was as dark as Andromache's yet not as wavy, and her complexion was of the lightest olive, just like her father's. Briseis privately believed her beauty would increase tenfold, were it not for the permanent scowl on her face.

"_That mule-headed wench is here again_!" Chryseis snapped, her voice filled with disdain. "Can you not tell her that this is a sacred place, and that trivial matters are to be taken elsewhere?"

"I tried to during her last visit," Briseis said apologetically, knowing exactly who Chryseis was referring to, "but she was in a foul mood and would not listen-"

"And are we to suffer now for your cousin's lechery? The morning prayers are about to start and this rude shepherdess won't leave unless she has your word on something."

"Really, Briseis," Chryseis sneered. "You've been nothing but trouble since you arrived. Don't think that your royal blood will save you from anything, for we are all equals in the eyes of both my father and Apollo himself!"

"I never meant to imply superiority of any kind," Briseis said, quietly. " But I do not know how to handle Oenone. I own that Paris is to blame for all this, yet he is away now and I cannot help it if she chooses to believe otherwise."

"I don't care what your excuses are," Chryseis countered, "but you must get rid of her at once or I shall do it myself!"

She left the room in a huff.

Briseis closed her eyes and tried hard not to cry. Homesickness washed over her and it hurt not being able to seek comfort from her relatives. Being a priestess was fulfilling enough, but she could not help but wonder if she had made the right decision. There were moments when she longed for home, and Chyseis' grating dislike of her made it all the worse.

Suddenly, a loud scream was heard from the outside, followed by scuffling noises. Briseis jumped in fright when an enraged Oenone entered her room, with Chryseis attempting to hold her back by fastening her arms around the shepherdess' waist.

"I MUST KNOW WHERE HE IS RIGHT NOW OR I SHALL KILL MYSELF!" Oenone cried, reaching for Briseis with frantic hands, her eyes mad with pain and fury.

"I…I…" Briseis faltered, unconsciously flinching back from the hysterical girl's touch. She feared Oenone's anger, yet she pitied her as well. There was no contending with a woman who had temporarily lost her sanity and was willing to do anything to regain the man who had duped her. With dark circles under her eyes and her straight black hair wild and unkempt, Oenone looked as if she had not had much sleep in the past few days.

"Stop staring at her and DO SOMETHING!" Chryseis screeched, bending over with effort to keep Oenone from clawing at Briseis.

"I will," Briseis cried, standing up to call for help, "but for the love of Zeus, promise me you won't strike her as you did last time- it only serves to heighten her anger."

"I'll promise no such thing!" Chryseis snapped, and hissed into the shepardess' ear. "Do you know who my father is? He's the head priest of this temple and if you don't cease this whining I'll have you included as _part sacrifice_ in our next hecatomb offering!"

This vain threat was interrupted by the timely arrival of a group of priests headed by Khryses himself. The old man observed the scene calmly, giving a look of exasperation and sympathy in Briseis' direction, and a look of concern and amusement in his daughter's.

"Father!" Chryseis cried. "Would you be so kind as to help me in controlling this shameful hussy? She's here to make trouble again, and wants to consort with _our little princess_- who is, quite frankly, another troublemaker. We've never had so much to deal with since she arrived. If you ask me, these two _deserve_ each other!"

At Khryses' prompting, two priests ran to Chryseis' side and took the struggling Oenone, one arm each, and led her out of the room.

"I WANT MY DIGNITY BACK! AND I WANT PARIS!!!" The shepherdess wailed, her voice echoing across the hallway as she was dragged out.

Heavy silence followed the intruder's hasty ejection.

After a long minute, the head priest motioned for his remaining companions to leave him with the two girls.

And once they had their privacy, Khryses turned to Briseis, eyeing the guilty tide of color on the beautiful girl's cheeks. "Well, that was a rather disturbing visit, was it not?" he began. Briseis could not bring herself to look at him, embarrassed as she was by the predicament of her cousin's wrongdoing. She opened her mouth to make a shaky apology, but was interrupted again by Chryseis' mocking.

"Father, you can very well sense what has transpired," Chryseis said, moving over to Khryses' side at the opposite end of the room, where she could observe her victim with unconcealed dislike. She then glanced at the younger woman condescendingly, as if she were an insect that required immediate removal. "And why shouldn't you? This is not the first time such a riot has occurred. And all because of her. So I beseech your wisdom in this matter…or are we to suffer another visit from that…that _madwoman_?!!"

"My dear, you must calm down," said the old man, patting his daughter on the shoulder. "What you say is true. The shepherdess must not be allowed entrance to this shrine whenever she wishes- lest the sun god rain arrows on us for such disrespectful behavior." Khryses looked at Briseis, a stern expression on his face. "However, I own that none of this is her fault, either."

Chryseis gaped at him in surprised displeasure, as if a dozen snakes had suddenly emerged from the crown of his head.

Briseis sank down on her bed, dazed at his statement. She was so sure of her dismissal that the priest's words were like a balm from heaven.

"Yes, Briseis. I know that you did not want any part of this messy affair, and that your cousin, Prince Paris, is entirely to blame," Khryses continued. His daughter attempted a second interruption but he silenced her with a wave of his fingers. "I will not dismiss you from your duties Briseis, and you will remain a priestess of Apollo… However, I want you to absent yourself from the morning prayers today, while you gather your bearings. You may rejoin us for the meal this afternoon. In the meantime, I suggest that you use this spare moment for reflection."

"But father-" whined Chryseis

"Hush child, and let me finish," Khryses said. "Rest assured, I will see to this matter personally and inform the augurs that a watch guard is needed to prevent the, uh, _lady_, from returning. Both of you are to carry on as always, mindful of your work. I do not want you worrying about her ever again. Come to think of it, this is entirely my fault. I should've assigned someone on the lookout a long time ago, as the lady was already quite mad during her first visit. It was only a lack of foresight that prevented me from anticipating her second."

He made to exit the room. "With that settled, I must now convene with my fellow priests. Chryseis, I want you to follow me in a few minutes, so that we can make preparations at the altar for the morning prayer. Briseis, I'll expect you to join us at supper."

He left in a flurry of blue robes.

When she was certain of her father's absence, Chryseis bore down on her dazed companion. "Well, that was pretty amusing, wasn't it? But don't be too sure of yourself. My father only tolerates you because you're descended from royalty. Had you been a peasant, you would've been dismissed long before your friend could make a second visit."

For once, Briseis was only too happy to be affected by Chryseis' stinging words. She had just been blessed by the realization that there was a very comforting similarity between the head priest and her uncle Priam. Was this blessing a gift from the sun god himself? She wished it were so. Having Apollo's protection was of utmost importance to every maid who dedicated her life to him. Briseis was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she did not even notice her tormentor's departure.

After a few moments of hopefulness however, another cloud of gloom settled over her. She would have to continue living a lie, pretending that all things were well at the temple. She would have to go on, depending on Khryses' firm belief in her competence, which prevented her from being dismissed from service. She would also have to continue writing other letters to Paris, inventing falsehoods about the head priest's delightful daughter.

Briseis lay back on the bed, closing her eyes. Somehow, she could never bring herself to complain against another person, for she hated confrontation and went through great discomfort just to avoid it. A pity it always came looking for her, despite her efforts!

Paris, on the other had, always seemed to get away with almost everything. Briseis felt a familiar sting of wetness in her eyes at the thought of him, and homesickness filled her for the second time that day. If only she could be more like her adventurous cousin. Carefree, unmindful, less worried…she wiped at the tears on her face.

Little did she know that, thousands of miles away, her beloved Paris was already adding to his list of transgressions, claiming a woman that was not his to take.

* * *

* * *

_Phtia, Greece._

__

In the ruins of an old temple, two fighters clashed in a sparring match, unmindful of the sea's roaring waves below. The ivy-covered temple was situated on a cliff, which overlooked Phtia's vast ocean, blue as the waters of the Aegean itself.

Patroclus swerved to the right in an attempt to jab his cousin with the tip of his wooden sword. Achilles saw this coming however, and easily dodged the younger man's attack. Patroclus then quickly raced up the stone steps of the temple, with Achilles pursuing him, ever ready with his makeshift sword. A few quick steps here and there, and Achilles finally spied an opening. He lunged forward and tapped his cousin's collarbone. "Never hesitate," he said, smiling.

Patroclus grinned in understanding, and ran of to renew his assault. A moment later he tried for the offensive again, his sword spinning with incredible speed. His sword moved in a downward arc, but Achilles quickly ducked, and the weapon sliced into thin air.

"Nervous?" Patroclus asked, grinning. His training was paying off and he wasn't afraid to show it. Just when he thought he had the upper hand, Achilles suddenly swung him around and held him at an arm's length, his sword situated at the tip of the boy's throat. "Petrified", the warlord countered.

Patroclus was a good swordsman, better than most grown men; but he still had a long way to go before becoming a master of swordplay, much yet a seasoned Myrmidon. Like most young fighters, he was talented and energetic. Still, he was a little too eager and a bit hesitant when decisiveness was called for.

Achilles on the other hand, was the epitome of the efficient warrior, wasting no energy with his lightning quick reflexes, adept in discovering his opponent's weaknesses.

Achilles raised his right hand for a blow and Patroclus lifted his sword to parry it…but to his surprise the sword was suddenly transferred to Achilles' left hand, and it managed a quick thrust at his chest. "You told me never to switch sword hands," Patroclus started accusingly, staring down at the wooden blade at his chest. He then lunged and tried for another tactic.

And so they continued with their session, parrying and dodging in splendid repartee, until Achilles finally had his opponent's sword where he wanted it- lowered at a weak angle. He kicked Patroclus' sword away and was about to strike him lightly on the shoulder when the sound of horses' hooves interrupted them.

Achilles knew exactly who had come to visit. He quickly headed for a pile of armor in the corner of the temple, where his spear lay. In fast motion, he lifted the spear with a nudge of his foot, caught it in the air with his hand, and threw. The bronze warhead flew a short distance away, striking right into the bark of an old fir tree. A chariot emerged from behind it, its occupant a startled man who cast an alarmed look at the spear, which landed only a few inches above his head. The man's alarm slowly gave way to amusement, and a knowing smile spread across his bearded face.

"Your reputation for hospitality is fast becoming legend," Odysseus said, grabbing the offending spear from the tree. He threw it right back and Achilles caught it, throwing it over to his side.

"Patroclus, my cousin," Achilles said, ushering Patroclus forward in introduction, "Odysseus, king of Ithaca."

Odysseus nodded, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Patroclus, I knew your parents well. I miss them." He then turned to Achilles. "And now you have this one watching over you, eh? Learning from Achilles himself. Kings would kill for the honor."

"Are you here at Agamemnon's bidding?" Achilles bluntly asked, though he already knew the answer to that question. Odysseus hesitated, rubbing his chin. "We need to talk." They moved forward and walked down the temple steps.

"I will not fight for him," Achilles began, and Odysseus sighed, knowing that his task would not be easy.

"I'm not asking you to fight for Agamemnon. I'm asking you to fight for the Greeks."

The blonde man shrugged, lifting his broad shoulders indifferently. "Why? Are the Greeks tired of fighting each other? Besides, the Trojans never harmed me."

"They insulted Greece."

"They insulted one Greek" Achilles said, sarcastically. "A man who couldn't hold on to his wife. What business is that of mine?"

"Your business is war, my friend."

"Is it?" Achilles asked, raising his brows. Odysseus knew him too well, but his dislike of Agamemnon's warmongering was bound to get in the way. "The man has no honor, Odysseus. You know my regard for him."

Odysseus shook his head. "Let Achilles fight for honor, let Agamemnon fight for power and let the gods decide which man to glorify."

"For the Greeks!" Patroclus cried, interrupting their discourse by attacking his cousin. They resumed their swordplay while Odysseus continued on with his cajolery.

"Forget Agamemnon." Odysseus said, watching their mock fight. Achilles was the only warlord who could carry on a conversation with another man, while dueling with another at the same time. "Fight for me. My wife will feel much better if you're by my side. I'll feel much better."

The fight was finally concluded when Achilles disarmed his cousin and playfully struck him in the rear, shoving him away.

"We're sending the largest fleet that ever sailed." Odysseus said, quietly. "A thousand ships, in fact."

"Is Prince Hector as good a warrior as they say?" Patroclus eagerly asked, undeterred by his defeat.

"The best of all the Trojans," Odysseus replied, looking at Achilles from the corner of his eye as he bent to pick up a water jug. "Some say he's better than all the Greeks too."

Achilles snorted, then spit his water out. Odysseus may have learned a thing or two about him, but in return, he could always tell when the wily king was up to something.

"Even if your cousin doesn't come, I hope you'll join us, Patroclus," Odysseus said, reaching out for the boy, "We'll need a strong arm like yours."

Achilles swiftly brought his sword between them. "Play your tricks on me, but not my cousin."

"You have your sword, I have my tricks," Odysseus reminded him. "We play with the toys the gods give us." He walked up the temple's stone steps and began to head back to his chariot, then he stopped and looked back at them.

"This war will never be forgotten" Odysseus said, gazing steadily into Achilles' eyes, giving emphasis to his argument. "Nor will the heroes who fight in it…and we sail for Troy in three days."

Achilles watched the departing man, and he felt a familiar surge of anticipation at these words.

* * *

* * *

Moments later, he found himself walking along the beach of Phtia, but his mind was not on its beautiful scenery. A ship passed by, carrying goods for trade across the blue water, and a flock of sea gulls flew right overhead. Yet the need to fight had been reawakened in Achilles, and his appreciation for the peacefulness of his surroundings was diminished. Surely, his need for a serene life could wait. As of now, there was that inner longing…that restlessness, which required instant gratification. He then spied a woman walking at a distance, picking up seashells near a cave by the beach.

It was his mother.

He approached her as she bent down to pick up a white stone, but she recognized his presence without turning around. "I knew they would come for you," she said, her back still facing him, "long before you were born." She turned and looked into his eyes.

Thetis was a beautiful woman, regal in bearing, untainted by age. The appearance of white hair and fine wrinkles on the corners of her eyes-only resulted in a distinguished appearance, but as of that morning her face was etched with worry. She knew what had just transpired between her son and the king of Ithaca, as she knew that what the oracle prophesized was true…when she visited it all those years ago. Her son would either die in the peak of his manhood, in glorious combat…or he would live to grow old as any other. Old, infamous and forgotten.

"I knew they would come," she repeated. "They want you to fight in Troy."

Achilles crossed his arms and said nothing, studying her with interest. With her hair moving in the breeze and her long blue robe floating on the water's surface, she reminded him of a sea nymph frolicking amidst the waves. When his father died years ago, his mother made the grueling decision to return to the land of her maidenhood. She loved her son, and made it a point to visit him now and then… but it was no secret that it pained her to see him grow into that invincible warrior who fought war after war, year after year, his reputation spreading across the land.

Yet this had happened, and Thetis had no choice but to accept it, as she accepted the will of the gods and the capriciousness of fate. But there still remained that prophecy, which could only have one of two outcomes. Thetis hoped that she could convince him to give up this voyage, for it may well be his last.

"I'm making you another seashell necklace, like the ones I used to make when you were a boy…do you remember?" she asked softly, her hands skimming the waterbed to add to her collection of trinkets.

"Mother," Achilles finally uttered, giving her a serious look. "Tonight I decide."

"If you stay in Larissa, you will find peace," Thetis slowly said, playing with the seashells on the palm of her hand. "You will find a wonderful woman. You will have sons and daughters, and they will have children- and they will love you…when you are gone they will remember you. "

Her expression darkened. "But when your children are dead, and their children after them…your name will be lost."

She then moved onto the part of her speech that she had been dreading. "If you go to Troy, glory will be yours. They will write stories about your victories for thousands of years." She walked up to him. "The world will remember your name."

"…but if you go to Troy, you will never come home, for your _slaying of the Trojan prince_ walks hand in hand with your doom." She raised a shaky hand and caressed his cheek, marveling at how hard a man her son had become. "I may never see you again."

An ordinary man might have been moved by this speech, but Achilles was far from ordinary. The respect and affection he bore for his mother made his decision difficult, but his mind had already been made up before that.

In the pursuit of a goal, there were times when sacrifice was necessary. And the king of Phtia believed that that time had finally come.

* * *

* * *

_The kingdom of Troy, in the 20th year of King Priam's reign._

__

__

The day was far from ordinary. The streets of Troy were filled with its citizens, onlookers waiting to catch a glimpse of the royal ensemble. Housewives left their duties to open their windows, gathering in circles on rooftops with their friends. Maidens wore their best robes, adorning their hair with wreaths, throwing flower petals of every color from their large, straw baskets into the air. Children ran amok with their friends, their minds not on their playthings but on the excitement surrounding them. Men pushed one another amidst the crowd, only to be checked by the throngs of soldiers lining the main road, which led to the palace.

It was a festive occasion, one that king Priam declared a holiday…and Troy had never looked more beautiful with its white washed walls, lush gardens, and its towering statues of Zeus, Apollo, Aphrodite and Poseidon, standing 80 feet high in each of the four corners of the city's main square.

It was the day the Trojan princes arrived from Sparta.

Briseis had taken care to wake up extra early that morning, for she was to visit her family and be one of the first to greet Paris and Hector, as was promised. Her fingers shook as she fastened the gold pins that held her priestess robes together, and she reached for a radiant headdress on a nearby table. When the tedious task of dressing was accomplished, she rushed out and took her leave of Khryses, ignoring the look of envy from his daughter. "Do not forget to return in three days," the head priest kindly said, kissing her forehead. "And you must remind your cousin of that little predicament he left us to deal with."

"I will, sir," she said, and turned to hug Chryseis, ignoring her nemesis' inward flinch as she did so.

Determined that nothing should ruin this day, Briseis fled out of the temple, swift as a swan in flight.

Her chariot arrived at the palace in a little more than an hour, and soldiers surrounding the main gates escorted her up several high staircases, which led to a third level overlooking the city's landscape. On opposite sides of the platform, ten soldiers were stationed side by side, awaiting the royal arrivals.

"Briseis!" came a joyful cry. Andromache suddenly came into view, stretching her arms out in greeting. Briseis ran to hug her older cousin.

"I didn't think you would come," Andromache smiled. "Astyanax will be out in awhile. The nurse is preparing him."

"I wouldn't miss this event for the entire world," Briseis replied, gazing at the crowds and festivities below. "You look beautiful, by the way," she said, admiring Andromache's blue gown, which glistened like the ocean's surface in the morning.

"It's my best dress," Andromache leaned into her ear and whispered, "and it was also a present from Hector."

Briseis caught sight of her uncle a few feet away from them, standing in an inner court protected by a high roof. Priam was conversing with his peers and advisors. To his right stood Glaucus, comrade in arms and leader of the Lycians. To his left, stood Archeptolemus and Velior; the former, a seer of great wisdom, the latter, his majesty's personal counsel.

"Uncle," she said respectfully, and he looked up and took notice of her, his eyes twinkling. "Briseis, I'm glad you could make it this early…your robes suit you." She blushed and curtsied for the benefit of his companions.

"They're here," Andromache said excitedly.

The royal entourage made a slow descent from the bottom of the stairs at the end of the main road, and when they finally reached the top, Briseis could scarcely contain her glee. She held back however, as it was customary for the elders to make their greetings before the rest.

Hector was the first to ascend, and King Priam hugged his eldest son tightly. "Father," Hector whispered, and Briseis noticed a hint of tiredness about him, emphasized by the dark circles under his eyes. She assumed it was due to the stress of traveling.

Paris soon followed, and Briseis was surprised to find an extraordinarily beautiful woman by his side. This lady had hair the color of golden wheat on a summer day, and her eyes were blue as the sky. An uneasy feeling came over Briseis at the sight of her, so beautiful to look at, yet so…

"This is Helen," Paris said, ushering the goddess forward.

"Helen of Sparta?" Priam questioned. The goddess gave Paris an uneasy glance, and he intercepted on her behalf. "Helen of Troy," he corrected. "Ah Helen," Priam said, "I've heard rumors of your beauty". He bent to give her a kiss on the cheek. "For once, gossips were right."

Briseis was at a loss. So this was Queen Helen, famed throughout the land for her beauty. But…why had she come to visit? And where was her husband? A feeling of dread came upon the young priestess. It was not the first time Paris had cavorted with a married woman…but Helen was not just any other married woman. She was sister in law to King Agamemnon, son of the house of Atreus, high king of all Mycenae. So preoccupied in her thoughts was she, that she did not notice Hector and Andromache's touching reunion.

The couple had locked themselves in a tight embrace and when they parted, Andromache presented little Astyanax, who was being carried by a nurse nearby. "Look," she said. Hector's eyes widened in surprise. "He's grown!"

"He's strong," Andromache quipped, and the baby burped in agreement. They both laughed at their son's antics.

"_Briseis_."

Briseis instantly composed herself. Seconds later, she received Paris' call with open arms, and he kissed her on both cheeks.

"My dear, beloved cousin," he said, in that flattering voice of his that she loved, "your beauty grows with each new moon."

Before she could come up with a suitable reply, Hector and King Priam approached them from behind.

"You make a charming priestess," Hector said, taking in her new attire.

"The young men of Troy were devastated when Briseis chose the virgin robes," Priam teased, and Briseis smiled widely. It was good to be home.

She would not be smiling a few hours later.

* * *

* * *

"Father…I know this is the last thing we need," Hector said, his voice filled with exasperation. The great hall was now empty, save for the two men, along with Briseis and Andromache who sat by the main table, silent throughout their discourse. Paris lounged in an upper bedroom with Helen, his new bride.

"'Tis the will of the gods," Priam countered. "Everything is in their hands. But I'm surprised you let him bring her."

"If I'd let him fight Menelaus for her, you'd be burning a son's body instead of welcoming a daughter."

"We could send peace envoys to Menelaus."

Hector shook his head. "You know Menelaus. He'd spear their heads to his gate."

The king sighed. "What would you have me do?"

"Put her on a ship, and send her home."

Briseis looked up, and her eyes met Andromache's. Hector's plan was a sound one, but from what they had seen of Paris, they knew that its execution was nearly impossible. They had only spent a few hours with the happy, new couple, but it was already quite obvious that Paris was in love…and that he would die before letting Helen go.

Priam seemed to understand this much. "Women have always loved Paris and he has loved them back, but this is different," he said, looking out a large window at the end of the hall, deep in thought. "Something has changed in him. If we send her home to Menelaus, he will follow her."

Hector scanned the vast plains outside. "This is my country and these are my countrymen. I don't want to see them suffer just so that my brother can have his prize." He rubbed his temples in frustration. "And by now, it's not just the Spartans who come after her…by now, Menelaus has gone to Agamemnon and Agamemnon has wanted to destroy us for years!"

"Enemies have been attacking us for centuries and our walls still stand."

"Father, we can't win this war."

"Apollo watches over us," the king retorted. "Even Agamemnon is no match for the gods"

"And how many battalions does the sun god command?" Hector snapped, at his wits end. In moments like this, he could very well perceive the similarities between his father and younger brother. They could both be stubborn to the point of being unreasonable.

"Do not mock the gods!" Priam scolded, and Hector bit his lip. With his father in such a mood, there was simply no arguing with him. Considering his second plan, he turned towards his wife and cousin, who had been uncomfortably silent during their argument.

"Briseis?"

The girl stood up, tension etched on her smooth brow.

"You were summoned to this private gathering because we need a favor of you," Hector said, getting straight to the point. "I need you to convince Paris to return Helen."

"Return Helen?" Andromache echoed, gaping at him. "Did you not hear what father said? If Helen goes back to Sparta, Paris will follow and they will both meet an instant death at the hands of the Mycenean king."

"I know, love, I know. But this is the only plan we have, other than looking forward to war itself." Hector stared intently at his cousin. "Briseis, if there's anyone who can convince Paris, it's you…he shares secrets with you that he wouldn't with the rest of the family." He tipped her chin up. "Perhaps you could convince him to return Helen _without_ following her."

Briseis closed her eyes and her face contorted. She was afraid this would happen. "Alright, I'll speak with him… But I must tell you that…that the chances of me succeeding are lower than you might think. I, too, believe that Paris is in love, and if it were with any other woman I would be perfectly happy to embrace them both in friendship. But, as with the rest of you, his present marriage does not comfort me one bit. I know the dire consequences his actions may bring…she's a married woman."

After his initial bout of moodiness, Priam finally contributed to the conversation. "The sinfulness of this union has not escaped me…but the fact that she is related to Agamemnon makes it all the worse. Yet I think we do stand a chance against him, with Apollo on our side."

It was Hector's turn to be silent.

"Is Agamemnon as powerful as they say he is?" Andromache asked, her face troubled.

"Yes, and he owes much of his success to the son of Peleus," Hector replied.

"Achilles?" Priam's forehead creased with worry. "Glaucus said he was a madman who would attack Zeus himself, if the god so insulted him."

"And it's probably true," Hector said, grimly. "Back in Sparta, I was told that no one wielded a sword or spear better than he could. Achilles has also killed more men than anyone I've heard of."

"I do not want you to confront him, then," Andromache begged fearfully. "I can't lose you."

"If war reaches this kingdom, you can be certain that Achilles and his Myrmidons will be a part of it."

Briseis stared at her hands, which were folded neatly across her lap. "I'll do my best in trying to convince Paris. But please don't get your hopes up about me. I've seen the way he looks at Helen. The probability of my succeeding would be…"

"…_Highly doubtful_," came a voice from the entrance of the room. Paris was leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed, and a scowl marring his handsome features.

"Paris…" Briseis pleaded, feeling guilty because she had been caught plotting against him. He walked forward, and squeezed her arm reassuringly.

"Fear not cousin, I know this isn't entirely your fault. " He glared accusingly at the rest of them. "But I'm glad Helen wasn't here to witness the vileness of this plot. It amazes me how you could embrace her as part of the family, then even think of sending her back!"

"This isn't just about you or your marriage, Paris!" Hector snapped. "This is about Troy. Have you any idea…any idea at all what form of vengeance Menelaus and his brother would bring upon us? They have the largest army ever known to man!"

"You needn't worry," Paris said, dismissively. "I've already thought of it…when the Greeks arrive, I will challenge Menelaus for the right to Helen. With that said, there is no need for war or worrying on our part."

"You? Challenge Menelaus?" Hector stared at him disbelievingly. "Have you lost your mind? You haven't even completed your training, yet you wish to fight this man…this seasoned warrior, whose experience far outweighs your own?!!"

"I do not fear him," Paris said stoutly. "What I fear most is losing Helen. I love her, Hector…as you love Andromache, and as father loved our late mother. I'd gladly die for her if needed."

"I know that," Priam said, touched by his son's passionate speech. "But the question is, are we willing to lose you over her?"

Paris smiled. "Father, if you desire my happiness, and I know you do- you would let me make this decision."

"Paris, you know your worth as part of the family," Hector said, his voice softening, "but this decision doesn't involve you alone. What of the men under my command? The Appollonian soldiers have fought bravely for Troy but should we expect them to rally for one woman's sake?"

"And am I to send Helen back without a thought to her well being?" Paris asked, "Menelaus will kill her. When she dies, I die. Brother, I love you but do not force me to give my wife up. Helen is my life!!!"

"Excuse me," Briseis whispered, rising from her chair. "It's half past eight. I think I'll retire now, if you don't mind." She bent down to kiss Andromache on the cheek.

So engrossed was her family in the discussion, that they did not pay heed to her hasty retreat.

* * *

* * *

Briseis sat on a stone ledge facing the royal garden's largest lake. Sleep eluded her that night, and she had walked out of the palace for a breath of fresh air. It was hardly the place for contemplation but it was safe enough, what with the night guards protecting the garden walls' outer gates.

_Paris, what have you done?_ Briseis moaned inwardly, wringing her hands in frustration. She certainly did not begrudge his happiness, yet there were other things to consider. Sheltered as she was, she knew that Troy had little hope of facing an enemy as powerful as Agamemnon, with the rest of Greece right behind him. Her uncle seemed optimistic, though.

A rustling nearby caught her attention. "Who's there?" she asked, peering into the darkness with apprehension. To her astonishment, Helen emerged from the bushes behind her.

They stared at one other for a minute.

"They despise me, don't they?" Helen asked, finally breaking the silence. "They despise me for coming here and putting Troy at risk."

"I…I would be lying if I told you all was well," Briseis said, unsure of how to proceed. "But our family does not hate you…this situation isn't entirely your fault."

Helen shook her head. "Yes, but I'm partly to blame." She sat on the ledge beside Briseis. "When your cousin came into my life and told me he loved me- it was the happiest I had ever been since my youth. My former husband was a formidable man, a great ruler. But my life was empty with him. Paris made me live again…at which cost saddens me." She grasped Briseis' shoulders with both hands, leaning into her, as if she could make her understand.

"I hate myself for coming here and causing so much trouble…but I would do it again if he asked me to."

"Please don't worry," Briseis said, haltingly, "what's past is past and…regardless of your mistake…you are part of our family now- nothing can change that."

"Are they going to send me away?" Helen asked, fearfully. "I won't refuse, if that is what they decide."

"Paris won't allow it." Briseis knew it was the wisest plan, but she was drowning in guilt. How could she look this woman in the face and admit that she was assigned to convince Paris of the awful task?

"Do you hate me, Briseis?" Helen asked suddenly.

"No…never hate you," Briseis said, softly. "I worry for Troy's future, but I've already accepted you as my cousin's wife."

"Truly?"

"Yes, and if you bring him such joy, then your marriage cannot be that bad."

Helen smiled and stood up. "My dear girl. That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me since I arrived here. I thank you."

Briseis nodded. "Is Paris asleep?"

"Yes, and I'm off to join him." Helen gathered her skirts and headed for the palace.

Alone once again, Briseis raised her knees and hugged them to her chest, staring sadly at the moon's reflection on the water's surface. She made a forlorn picture, sitting on the rock, a virgin in twilight. Out of the blue, an old memory came to her, of her childhood, when her parents had recently died of the plague that swept her homeland. Uncle Priam spent hours comforting her, and on one occasion when she was feeling particularly melancholy, he mentioned that there was simply no controlling one's fate. The lesson comforted her back then.

It did nothing to relieve her of this present concern.

* * *

* * *

_Miles away, a thousand ships sailed in one direction._

__

__

Agamemnon, high king of the house of Atreus, brought with him a hundred ships for battle, a testament to his supremacy and might. His brother, Menelaus, sailed close behind him, along with sixty ships from Sparta. Way off in the distance, Odysseus sailed with twelve ships from the kingdom of Ithaca. And before him, Nestor, ruler of the Pylians and royal advisor to Agamemnon himself, commanded a fleet of ninety ships. More vessels joined this following…from a number of less than ten, to a count of more than ninety; it was a spectacular display of power.

But far ahead of them, sailed a force of fifty ships, made distinguishable by their sails of midnight black. The Myrmidons of Phtia were just like their leader…brave, ruthless and eager for the upcoming battle. Achilles, their young king, stood on the helm of his vessel, his cold blue eyes surveying the distance before him.

"How long 'til we reach Troy?" he asked his first in command.

"Only fourteen days to go, my lord," Eudorus said. "The winds favor our journey."

Achilles nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He had fought many wars in Greece and in other foreign lands, but this was his first in the east. The Trojans would soon bear the brunt of his vigor, and know the deadliness of his sword.  
  
A thousand ships sailing across the sea, like a flock of birds headed for greener pastures.

_(to be continued…)_

__

* * *

Author's notes: Please be forewarned that this fanfic's rating of PG-13, will be raised to an R in the next few chapters. That's where the violent battles and sexual situations come in.

Also, the fight scenes I wrote above were based on Troy's original script, combined with scenes from the movie. Once again, I'd like to remind those who read this that by the time Achilles and Briseis meet, the events here will not be following that of the movie.

Some extra notes for those who haven't read the Iliad:

Hecatomb: an offering that consists of 100 cattle or oxen.

Khryses/Chryses: The head priest of Apollo and father to Chryseis. I decided to use the original spelling, 'Khryses' to make a distinction between his name and that of his daughter's.


	5. Please05

* * *

* * *

Achilles stood on his ship's bow, gazing steadily at the heavily armored Myrmidons, who awaited his initial instruction. Only a few yards behind them, the Trojan beach gleamed like a pearl under the sunlight, the sea's white waves cascading upon its broad shoreline. The Greek armada had finally reached its destination and no one was more eager to land than Achilles' crew. They had stationed themselves before the foreign landscape, the remaining 49 ships eagerly anticipating the young king's signal from his royal vessel.  
  
Eudorus approached his lord with trepidation, glancing uncertainly at his broad back. "Should we wait for the others, sire?"  
  
"They brought us here for war, didn't they?" Achilles asked, bemused.  
  
"Yes, my lord. But Agamemnon's orders-" Eudorus faltered, wavering when his king raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Do you fight for me, Eudorus? Or Agamemnon?"  
  
"I fight for you my lord-"  
  
"Then fight for me. And let the servants of Agamemnon fight for him," Achilles said, smiling. This headlong charge would surely upset the power hungry Agamemnon, who always demanded first place among the Achaean fleet. Yet the soldiers from Phtia did most of the winning and most of the fighting and there was nothing the king of Mycenea could do about it. Achilles then frowned, taking note of his younger cousin stomping across the hull on the opposite side of the vessel. He had ordered Patroclus to stay behind and guard the ship, and the boy was not taking kindly to this.  
  
"But I'm ready, you taught me how to fight!" Patroclus had protested, but to no avail. Achilles then grabbed him by the back of his neck and whispered closely, preventing the others from witnessing their argument. "Cousin, I can't fight the Trojans if I'm concerned for you, now guard the ship!"  
  
He was not a Myrmidon yet, and Achilles would not risk his participating in the battle unless he finished his training. It would take a few more years to become a full-fledged soldier and as a result, Patroclus had no choice but to wait. Still, there was something humiliating about keeping watch with the old one-legged cook who mended broken spears, while the rest of the army fought and died in glory.  
  
Achilles sighed. He would have to talk to him later. As of now, there was work to do and a fight to win.  
  
"Myrmidons," he called out, scanning the faces of his soldiers. They straightened at the sound of his voice, and he crossed his arms to address them. "My brothers of the sword. I'd rather fight beside you than any army of thousands. Let no man forget how menacing we are..._we are lions_!" he roared, and the Myrmidons cheered, their spears thudding on the floorboards beneath them.  
  
He pointed at the horizon ahead. "Do you know what's there, waiting beyond that beach? _Immortality_. Take it! It's yours!"  
  
Their shouting grew louder and soon, cheers from the other Phtian ships added to the level of din. Within minutes, the oarsmen gave one last mighty row and the tar-caked keel of Achilles' ship beached the white Trojan sand. Achilles put on his helmet and grabbed a coiled rope, hurling himself onto the ground. The Myrmidons followed his lead, climbing down from their vessels, their numbers pouring out in waves across the dunes.  
  
Suddenly, a rain of arrows whistled through the air and four Myrmidons were struck even before they landed. They tumbled into the sea, while the rest of their comrades managed to escape the Trojan line of defense, which took the form of archers scurrying down the beach to face the Achaeans.  
  
Like ants invading a defenseless foothill, the Myrmidons spread across the plains of Troy, their incredible speed making it near impossible for the defenders to pierce through.

* * *

* * *

A lot could happen in a little less than an hour.  
  
Briseis awoke that morning to the strangest sensation. Something was not quite right. Rays of sunlight from the window momentarily blinded her and she rubbed her eyes. It was early -- she still had two hours before she had to report for priestess duty -- and yet...  
  
_Noise_.  
  
Loud shouts were heard from outside the temple and she immediately stood up, leaving her small bed to see what the trouble was. The scene that greeted her made her freeze in terror. Trojan archers were scattered in all corners of the beach, unsuccessfully trying to form a fortification against an army of stampeding foreigners.  
  
The Greeks had arrived.  
  
Briseis dressed in haste and left her room, running towards the heart of the temple were the sacrificial altar was situated. How could this be happening? According to Archeptolemus, her uncle's royal seer, the Greeks would be arriving in two weeks time, no earlier than that. By then, she and the rest of the acolytes would already have relocated to a safer place, free to worship the sun god within the safety of Troy's walls.  
  
She stopped when she saw her superior in the middle of the main chamber, hovering over the sacrificial altar. Khryses stood over the remains of a slaughtered calf, sprinkling barley wheat onto its raw hide.  
  
"What...what is happening?!!" The panic in her voice halted the small ceremony and he turned to regard her, his complexion pale and haggard.  
  
"I see you were the first to rise," he said, "you must now wake the others, so that we can commence with this offering. The sooner this is completed, the better."  
  
"A...aren't we supposed to be leaving?" Briseis stared at him as if he had lost his mind. "The Greeks will be arriving any moment now, and if we tarry-  
  
"My child," Khryses said, tiredly." We cannot leave in a situation such as this. Our soldiers are dying out there, and this sacrifice may be essential for a Trojan victory. When Apollo hears this call and accepts this gift, he may very well grant us mercy and turn the tide of favor to the Trojans."  
  
"_But...but..._" Briseis sputtered. Strong as her faith was, the thought of waiting for the Greeks to arrive and sack the temple while they said their prayers did not sit well with her. Heaven forbid that they should be killed while performing the ritual itself.  
  
As if he had read her mind, Khryses held her shoulders and forced her to look at him. "We will offer our lives if needed, but we cannot leave the men without giving some form of aid...in prayer or medicinal service...now go, and wake my daughter before you approach the rest."  
  
Briseis nodded, and fled to fetch Chryseis. She was too distraught to argue with Khryses but she knew that her commitment not only meant serving the sun god, but obeying his head priest. Her only hope was that Hector had already summoned his Apollonian guard in the main city of Illium, and that they would get to the beach before the Greeks could inflict further damage.

* * *

* * *

Hundreds of flaming arrows flew into the air, some meeting their mark, some landing harmlessly in the dark seawater, and some getting buried beneath the packed sand. "GO FORWARD!" Eudorus cried, as he lifted his shield to ward of an oncoming arrowhead. The Myrmidons clustered together and pursued their leader, waiting for his signal.  
  
Achilles ran a few yards ahead of them, his feet too swift for the Trojan archers to take aim. He suddenly skidded onto the ground in a kneeling position and a cloud of dust formed around him. He raised his shield with one hand, and with the other he beckoned his soldiers to do the same. Like a pack of wolves, the Myrmidons howled, the first squadron landing to his right, the second to his left, and the rest of the army came together in line behind him. As one, they raised their shields and their bronze weapons formed an impregnable fortress; a large barricade that prevented the onslaught of arrows from getting through.  
  
"ON MY COMMAND!" Achilles shouted, and with this barrier intact, the Myrmidons rose from their kneeling positions and slowly walked forward. Arrows hit their mass of connected shields but were unable to penetrate, and when they marched a few feet away from the Trojans, Eudorus was given the order to break off. They disbanded, cutting into the group of archers before they could even shoot.  
  
In a few minutes, the Myrmidons split into their assigned units, running in different directions, effectively breaking into the Trojan ranks. On the forefront, Achilles sprinted over the white sand, three arrows in his shield. No man alive could outrun him, and showers of arrows proved useless against his speed. He threw his spear and it struck a large Trojan officer squarely in the middle of his forehead, and this man fell, blood oozing from the hole on his brow.  
  
He quickly picked up a spear from the ground and launched it into the stomach of another enemy, simultaneously ramming his shield at the men on his opposing side. A cluster of these soldiers fell at the strength of this impact and Achilles once again struck the bloody spear into the throat of another man, who attempted to cut him down.  
  
Running forward, he leaped into the thick of the battle, this time dropping his spear and using his sword for attack. He thrusted and parried, his blade swinging this way and that, taking life after life faster than anyone else present. A group of Trojans attempted to halt his progress, five men against one, but he was ready for them. He jumped into the air like scorpion about to sting a handful of beetles and spinning around, his sword broke through the skin of the first man's throat, sliced through the legs of the second and third, paralyzing them- and three quick strikes through the collarbones of the remaining contenders immediately stopped the beating of their hearts.  
  
And so the day went on, with Achilles making his way through the beach, its powder white sand now stained with the blood of the dead. On several occasions, he took on more than one Trojan at a time, sometimes crisscrossing his arms in a downward motion, striking their heads or their shoulders. In others, he made use of more aggressive tactics, soaring into the air where he could get an excellent range, then descending to literally strike the hearts of his enemies below. Rarely was he struck back- one small nick here and there, a gash on his armor and a wound on his arm but nothing seemed to faze him. In fact, these battle marks only served to sustain his battle rage, and he continued to wreak havoc on the Trojan army, his sword flashing in the heat of day, killing even before his feet touched the ground.  
  
Soon, when even the shiny hilt of his sword was wet with blood and his armor lay tainted with the remains of thousands of Trojans, he turned towards the temple, located in the upper side of the beach.  
  
Eudorus appeared from the corner of his eye, panting. Achiles was pleased to see his chief warrior alive. Tired, covered in blood, but alive and well, eager to follow his lead. Likewise, it gave him great pleasure to behold the rest of his Myrmidon moving towards the structure that housed Apollo's servants, with most of the Trojans massacred in their wake.  
  
"Breathe, my friend," Achilles said, resting a hand on Eudorus' shoulder. He then turned and raced towards the temple steps.

* * *

* * *

It happened just as Briseis feared it would. By the middle part of their ceremony, the noise outside grew so loud that the simple task of hearing Khryses' chanting was rendered nearly impossible. Chryseis kept glaring at her from a distance, hissing at her to concentrate but none of this worked in calming her tense disposition. She kept on stealing nervous glances around her, pressing her hands together in an attempt to still their trembling.  
  
All of a sudden, a spear sliced through the air and one of the acolytes fell, clutching his chest in shock. Chryseis screamed and Briseis watched the poor man sink down in slow motion, landing in a pool of his own blood. It was her first time to witness a murder and she had not even made sense of what had just happened when several other spears came raining down upon them. Briseis instinctively ducked, huddling close to the ground, her hands protectively covering her head.  
  
All hell broke loose then, and her fellow priests, who had been performing a solemn act in silence, were now running around in all directions, shouting, looking for a place to hide.  
  
"STAY CALM!" Khryses shouted above the din, "WE HAVE TO HOLD OUR GROUND- PANIC WON'T SOLVE ANYTHING!"  
  
But his followers ignored him, their earlier serenity forgotten in the face of this new threat. More bodies fell and when Briseis tilted her head she saw a crowd of soldiers running towards the temple's entrance.  
  
They were not wearing Trojan armor.  
  
She paled in fear, and arose from her prone position to make a mad dash for the opposite end of the temple, where she knew another exit lay. She would've succeeded had it not been for a priest who was slain right in front of her, the protruding end of a spear sticking out of his chest. Just as he was about to fall, he reached out and grabbed her shoulders, bringing her down with him. She watched in horror as he attempted to speak but blood spurted out of his mouth and onto her face. The man died with her in his arms.  
  
Soldiers filled the temple in droves, and Briseis twisted with all her might, pulling at the arms that held her captive. After much effort, she pried them loose and made a second attempt at escape. From the corner of her eye, she saw a soldier lunge and strike Khryses in the chest and his mouth opened in great pain, his eyes meeting hers from where he stood.  
  
"_My...my daughter_," he gasped, and the merciless soldier struck him once again.  
  
Before the soldier could notice her skulking about, Briseis fled from the main room, narrowly missing an onslaught of flying spears. Bodies of dead priests and temple maids were already heaped upon the door of the inner room she was headed for and she had to practically jump over them, stilling her heart against the fact that she knew these newly dead victims.  
  
She kept her mind perfectly blank as she ran for cover, her motions dictated entirely by a survival instinct that surfaced when needed. Later, there would be an occasion to weep and mourn the tragedy that had befallen this house of worship, but any show of emotion now would be the death of her.  
  
Against her will, she suddenly remembered Khryses' last words. Where was Chryseis? Her question was answered when she entered the next room. As luck would have it, it was also filled with fighting soldiers.  
  
Her presence was immediately made apparent to a horde of Greek soldiers nearby and they grinned widely, advancing onward. Like wolves preparing to attack a defenseless ewe, they gradually had her surrounded, their swords drawn on both sides.  
  
Her heart beating like a mad thing, Briseis slowly backed up and moved away from them, looking over her shoulder, trying to decide if returning to the main chamber was feasible. But other soldiers had already positioned themselves from behind and there was nothing more she could do. She prayed then, that these men would at least be kind enough to spare her life- she was only eighteen! This could not be happening...but the other temple maids had been slain. What was to prevent the Greeks from killing her on the spot?  
  
At that moment, she saw Chryseis in the far end of the room, struggling with an attacker. "GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF ME!" the head priest's daughter cried, and she pointed an accusing finger at Briseis. "WHY DON'T YOU TAKE HER INSTEAD? SHE'S A PRINCESS I TELL YOU- A PRINCESS!!!" Her captor lost patience with her, and roughly boxed her cheeks. Chryseis lost consciousness and the man picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder as one would a sack of rice.  
  
"_Well, well. Look what we have here_." The cold voice drew Briseis' attention from her fallen peer.  
  
One of the Greeks reached out and grabbed a fistful of her long hair. She yelped in pain, making them laugh. As one treated a piece of worthless chattel, her tormentor dragged her to his side and she desperately tried to pry his fingers loose, feeling as if her scalp would tear from such brutal force. "Hmm...trying to escape my grasp, are you?" he laughed and without warning, his fist shot up and struck her face. Her head snapped back but she refused to let go of his hands, her head beginning to ache when he tightened his hold on her scalp.  
  
"Please," she panted, tasting fresh blood on her lower lip. Her struggles only served to amuse them further. Another soldier joined the fun, and struck her mid region, so hard that she doubled over, her arms coming down protectively over her stomach.  
  
The man bent and softly whispered. "I don't relish this task, but 'tis my duty to bring down the enemy, be it a man or a woman." He drew his sword from its sheath. "If you're a good girl this won't take very long and you'll soon be able to reunite with your sun god in the afterlife."  
  
He raised his weapon and she closed her eyes, waiting for the deathblow.  
  
...but a minute had passed and nothing happened. Briseis opened her eyes, wondering at the delay. She found her captor staring at her intently, studying her face with new interest.  
  
"What is the matter, Alcimus?" one of them asked. "Do you need help with that?"  
  
He shook his head and tilted her chin up, a strange expression in his eyes. "This girl is quite beautiful- what if we were to include her in the loot instead? She'd make a fine prize."  
  
"For Achilles? I think not," his comrade answered, frowning. "I recall Eudorus saying that the master wanted no part in the whoring. Said he had enough of that in Thessaly and wanted to focus on the war, which is what he really came for."  
  
"We can sell her to Agamemnon then," Alcimus said. "Regardless of who wants her, she can be displayed along with the treasures in the main tent, when the kings divide the plunder among themselves. That way, one of them can buy her if he so wishes."  
  
"Would Achilles allow that?"  
  
"He said we could take anything valuable from here, but that if it was a woman we could include her in the show of wealth at the next assembly."  
  
"Alright then, now silence her and make it quick."  
  
A heavy blow knocked Briseis out cold, and she knew no more.

* * *

* * *

Standing on top of the temple steps, Achilles scanned the unfolding scene in smirking triumph. Scattered across the area, the Trojans were nursing in their defeat. A great many of them lay dead on the beach, the rest whimpering in the sand, seriously wounded. Those who escaped with their lives scampered away in retreat, unable to hinder the forceful invasion.  
  
Achilles heard his name repeatedly being chanted by the arriving Greeks, men bashing their swords against their shields, cheering him in his victory. He had won a great battle that day and he imagined with great pleasure, Agamemnon's fury at the being so highly praised by the entire Greek army.  
Earlier, plenty of troops from Illium had arrived to assist the Trojan archers, but this increase did little for their cause, as they were still no match for the Myrmidon fury that was recently unleashed.  
  
Reinforcements had also arrived for the Achaeans; in the form of 12 squadrons led by Ajax Telamon, the hulking king of Salamis. Despite this additional aid, the Myrmidons did most of the fighting, which explained Achilles current state of satisfaction.  
  
Achilles called out to his men, who huddled at the bottom of the temple. "The sun god is a patron of Troy, our enemy...take whatever treasure you can find. The rest you may donate to the general assembly this evening."  
  
The Myrmidons shouted in glee and ran inside the temple, eager to partake of what they so deserved.  
  
"With your permission, my lord" Eudorus said, coming up behind him.  
  
"Speak," Achilles ordered, removing his helmet, which dripped with the blood of those he had slain. In spite of the recent 'exercise', he was not tired in the least and his breathing was even.  
  
"Apollo sees everything," Eudorus said. "Perhaps it is not wise to offend him."  
  
Achilles nodded, a wicked idea forming in his mind. He was not a religious man, and he took great pains to prove that the only form of glory was the one earned by men who worked hard for it. Glory belonged to soldiers who fought and died; not to an absentee god who did little to help those who worshipped him.  
  
He walked over to the Apollo's towering statue, which stood in front of the temple. With a swing of his sword, he swiftly beheaded the golden idol and Eudorus gasped in horror at the unspeakable act.  
  
Achilles laughed at his first in command's stricken expression, but his attention was diverted by the sound of hoof beats some two hundred yards away from where they were.  
  
Hector's Apollonian guards were galloping across the plains, heading straight for the temple.  
  
Achilles perked at the sight of his supposed archrival. "Warn the men," he said, watching the approaching army. Eudorus made move to re-enter the temple but was halted midway, Achilles' hand motioning towards the spear he held.  
  
"Wait."  
  
Achilles took the weapon from him and narrowed his eyes, hefting the spear- judging the distance. He uncoiled his body and lunged, throwing it into the air. It flew a solid hundred yards before making its mark, striking Tecton, Hector's right hand man. The shaft pierced through the man's breastplate and he was knocked off his horse, skewering into the ground.  
  
Hector, who had not expected such accuracy, gasped as he beheld his comrade, lying in the dust. Tecton's eyes were wide open, uncomprehending in death as his hands clutched at the spear that killed him.  
  
When the Trojans were a good fifty yards away, Hector lifted his own spear and threw it right back...but it missed its target when Achilles tipped his head to the side in the last possible second, a lazy movement meant to convey his amusement at the prince's counterattack. He smiled coldly at Hector and his men, and then disappeared into the temple, pursued by an awed Eudorus.

* * *

* * *

Sitting in an alcove of the altar room, Achilles ignored the exploding war cries in the outer chambers of the temple. The Trojan army had entered the shrine with caution, only to be ambushed by the Myrmidons in a surprise attack. Like a predator amongst the shadows, he waited for the Trojan prince to enter the room- sure as he was of Hector's surviving the ongoing scuffle.  
  
True enough, his quarry stepped into the room after a few minutes, with a sword warily raised.  
  
"You're very brave or very stupid to come after me alone." Achilles said, emerging from the darkness. "You must be Hector."  
  
Hector squinted, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. When he finally detected the source of the voice, he gestured to the piled corpses carelessly thrown in a corner. Two priests lay dead on the cold stone floor, their throats slit, their robes soaked in blood. "These priests weren't armed!"  
  
"I didn't kill them," Achilles replied, "where's the challenge in that?"  
  
Hector was in no mood for idle talk. He quickly charged but Achilles jumped out of his reach and landed on the statue by the altar. Standing aloft the figure, he looked down at Hector, his stance relaxed and playful. He pointed his sword at him. "Do you know who I am?"  
  
"Fight me!" Hector snapped, not answering his question.  
  
Achilles' grin widened, and he regarded the prince the way a cat toyed with a mouse it had just caught. "Why kill you now, prince of Troy? With no one here to see you fall?" He vaulted off the statue and backed into an archway, leaving Hector no choice but to follow him.  
  
Outside, in the bright light of day, Hector approached his nemesis, ignoring the Myrmidons who arrived to cluster around their king.  
  
"The Trojans are dead, my lord." Eudorus said, and Achilles nodded, watching several Greek armies set up camp by the beach.  
  
"Why did you come here?" Hector asked, unmindful of the fact that he was surrounded.  
  
"They'll be talking about this war for a thousand years," was the reply.  
  
"In a thousand years the dust from our bones will be gone."  
  
"Yes, prince. But our names will remain."  
  
Hector continued to stare at him in an unflattering manner and Achilles sighed in exasperation. "Go home, prince. Drink some wine. Make love to your wife. Tomorrow we'll have our war."  
  
"You speak of war as if it's a game," Hector accused, "but how many wives wait at Troy's gates for husbands they'll never see again?"  
  
"Perhaps _your brother_ can comfort them. I hear he's good at charming other men's wives."  
  
Hector flinched in embarrassment. There was no denying Paris' foolishness, and everyone from the lowest washerwoman to the king of Phtia himself, knew of the adulterer's folly that had been the cause of this war. Achilles made a tusking sound, gesturing for him to leave and Hector slowly backed away, paying no heed to the enemies who watched his departure.  
  
"My lord, you let him go?" Eudorus asked, watching the Trojan prince descend the temple steps, mount his horse and ride off to join the rest of the retreating Trojans.  
  
"It's too early in the day for killing princes."  
  
With those words, Achilles headed for the shrine's roof, where he raised his bloody sword into the sky. In response to this greeting, clamor erupted from all ships spanning the horizon and Achilles' name was heard throughout the deafening noise.

(_to be continued..._)

* * *

* * *

Author's notes: Sorry for the violent chapter but the Iliad is far worse, at least. Also, I'll be posting shorter chapters from now on- but I'll be updating more often to make up for it.  
  
Again, please read and review. And feel free to criticize or offer suggestions along the way.  
  
Some extra notes:  
  
Achaeans: The Greeks

Illium/Illios: Troy

Mycenae: Agamemnon's kingdom.

Phtia: Achilles' kingdom. He's actually a prince in the Iliad. In this fic, his father Peleus is already dead, so that makes him king.

The Myrmidons: I compared them to ants during the fight scene because they literally descended from ants in the original myth. There was a plague that nearly wiped out the entire population of Phtia and one of Achilles' ancestors prayed for a solution to the problem. I think it was Zeus who turned a large colony of ants into people...the Myrmidons.  
  
On the other hand, this isn't what happened in Troy and this isn't what happened here, either. I like to keep things realistic; so I just added mild references.  
  
Also, in the film, Achilles only had 50 men...in here, as a king, he has soldiers occupying 50 ships. The way it was in the Iliad.


	6. Please06

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The beachscape resembled a marketplace from afar. With the Trojans long gone, the Greeks took their time setting up camp by the sea. From every corner available, various activities kept them preoccupied. Soldiers gathered before their captains, grabbing sturdy ropes, tugging more ships onto the sand. From the landed ships, gangplanks were lowered and various commodities were brought down. Horses, provisions, armor and weaponry...it was a busy afternoon, and the kings who supervised each of their armies stood on their ship helms, ensuring progress and the absence of delay.

The men paused in the middle of their work though, to make way for the much-admired king of Phtia who had just arrived from his successful battle. Achilles strode across the beach, carrying his helmet, accepting congratulations from every troop he passed by.

"Achilles!"

Ajax, the king of Salamis, came forward to greet him. He was a large man - possibly the largest in the entire Greek army - but Achilles was used to dealing with men three times his size and the encounter did little to faze him. Ajax' eyes were filled with admiration as he reached out to shake Achilles' hand.

"You are as fearless as the gods...I'm honored to go to war with you!"

Achilles smiled. "As am I...but then again, what do the gods have to fear? They're _immortal_, after all."

Ajax laughed and they shook hands.

The next man he encountered was Odysseus, who had been the last king to arrive on land. "If you sailed any slower the war would be over," Achilles mocked, and the king of Ithaca was quick to defend his tardiness.

"I don't mind missing the start as long as I'm here in the end," he retorted, but there was humor in his voice.

"What happened to you?"

"Penelope gave birth earlier than expected. She grew ill after labor and was unable to nurse our son for nearly a week, in fact." Odysseus scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. "I tried to delay my journey to care for her- you wouldn't believe the _effort_ I exerted to remain in Ithaca a bit longer- but Agamemnon sent his royal guard after me and I had no choice but to set sail, leaving my wife and child at so critical a time."

"And what trick did you perform to postpone your journey?"

Odysseus flushed. "Oh, never mind _that_. The point is, lying to someone as powerful as Agamemnon is unwise, not to mention reckless."

"I'll keep that in mind," Achilles replied, sarcastically. "My congratulations on the birth of your son, by the way. What name did you give him?"

"Telemachus."

Achilles patted his shoulder. "I'm sure he'll grow up to be just like his father."

A minute later, Achilles finally reached the area where his army had settled. Beside his ship, a throng of female servants from Phtia threaded strings of coarse, tussock grass, while a group of Myrmidons carried pine trees on their shoulders for chopping. Massive preparations were being made in order to build him a lofty, palisade lodge, one that was fit for a king. In the meantime, he would be residing in a simple, dark tent, which had already been set up for his exclusive use.

He met his cousin in front of his tent. Arms crossed, the boy had stationed himself by a campfire, staring moodily into the flames beneath a roasting calf.

"Were you hurt?" he inquired, carefully eyeing Patroclus for any signs of injury.

Patroclus rolled his eyes. "How is that possible, considering that nothing ever happens to me?" He sighed. "The cook and I had a fine time lowering sails that caught on fire, but other than that I've been standing here for quite a while now, having a _grand_ adventure, as you can very well see."

"We'll be raiding Troy's neighboring cities tomorrow," Achilles said, ignoring his sarcasm. "Is there anything you want? The first stopover is at Lyrnessos. They have beautiful women there. You may choose a concubine from the lot the Myrmidons acquire."

"I'll take my pick as soon as you're done with the sacking," Patroclus said, turning to leave. "Isn't that our usual routine?"

Achilles watched him leave in a tantrum. He made a mental note to kidnap a particularly beautiful girl in the morning, to give as a present in hopes of diverting Patroclus' ire.

"My Lord?"

Eudorus appeared from a tent a few yards away. "The serving women have brought in a tub filled with warm water for your bath...and King Agamemnon requests your presence in his tent as soon as you're finished - for the division of plunder."

It was Achilles' turn to roll his eyes. "Ah, that pig only wants a share of the gold we brought from the temple. Is there any reason we should give him even one talon of it, when he's done nothing to deserve what we've fought for?"

"He may want to bargain with you, sir," Eudorus said, hesitantly. "His men have stolen a few goods from Apollo's shrine after we left. Some overlooked treasure...and a temple maid or two."

"I have no need of a concubine for the moment...and we have plenty of riches, more than enough to sustain an army large as this. Our supply of provisions will grow as soon as more cities are invaded. What great loss can it bring if I don't attend the assembly?"

"All the Achaean kings will be present, my lord."

Achilles waved his hand as if to ward off the unpleasantness of the situation. "And that is the _only_ reason I _might_ be in attendance. My regard for the responsibilities I bear as your ruler far outweighs my disgust at being within ten feet of him. All the better for that coward they call a king I suppose, and all the worse for me."

He entered his tent, and Eudorus let out a sigh of relief.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Briseis opened her eyes and winced. A dull pain throbbed at her temples, blurring her vision. Her head ached something terrible and there was a buzzing in her ears. It took awhile before full consciousness returned and she found herself in a dark tent, gagged and bound to a wooden post, unable to move. She pulled at the restraining ropes but this only served to deepen her wrist wounds, which were already red with swelling. Finally, she gave up the futile attempt and slumped to the ground.

"Where am I?" she thought. Nothing in the current surroundings gave a hint as to her exact location, and it was too dark in the tent to comprehend the time of day. She recalled the frightful events earlier and guessed that she was likely in one of the enemy camps. Whether to be executed or to be handed to a soldier as a mistress, she did not know, nor did she care. It was ironic, how a girl could be a princess one-day, a priestess the next, and a slave in the last instant. The shame of it was more than she could bear. But she reminded herself that survival was her primary concern, the demotion in status being paltry in comparison.

Khryses' image came upon her, and she vividly remembered the cruel details of his murder. He had called for his daughter and while Briseis could not forget Chryseis' betrayal -- the way her rival screeched for the soldiers to take _her_, a Trojan princess, instead -- she could not help but wonder as to the other girl's whereabouts. The gentler side of Briseis' nature tried to convince her that Chryseis may not have meant what she said in the midst of that frenzy, and that she might have blurted it out as an act of desperation.

But where was she now? Probably beaten to death or lying injured somewhere, sharing a similar, wretched, fate.

The sound of someone fast approaching from the outside could be heard and Briseis immediately straightened, her pulse quickening in apprehension.

The tent flap opened and two soldiers came in, their stern expressions making them appear vaguely threatening. One of them untied the cords binding her, while the other took the gag of her mouth. "Where...where am I?!" she asked, alarmed.

"_Be quiet, wench!_," snapped the man to her right. With a rough motion, he pulled her to her feet and she was forcibly dragged out.

The Greek camp stirred with life that evening. Torches were strategically placed to light the sandy passages connecting each tent, and at the far end of the border separating the beach from unconquered territory, sentries were posted, on the lookout for intruders. Within the site, servant girls prepared boiling cauldrons for their lords and soldiers toasted wine around blazing fires, celebrating their victory against the Trojans. Too worried to notice several curious stares being thrown in her direction, Briseis missed all of this and was soon led to a large, red tent...possibly the largest on the seafront.

Inside, the ground was carpeted with the skins of wild animals and several spoils of war decorated the lush interior. A stout man sat at the opposite end of the quarter, his throne inlaid with gold and mother of pearl. Briseis paid him little attention though, for her gaze was directed to the girl tied at the center pole of the tent.

It was Chryseis.

When the head priest's daughter spotted her, she struggled and spat in fury. "THAT'S THE GIRL I'VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT! SHE'S ROYALTY, I TELL YOU...AND SHE'D MAKE A BETTER PRIZE THAN ME!"

The man on the throne waved his fingers and Briseis was instantly presented to him.

"If your friend doesn't hold her tongue, I'll have it cut off," he said, a sinister twinkle in his eye. Chryseis gasped and quieted down. Briseis held her silence, curiously studying him. This man was heavily bearded and his long, dark hair was arranged in braids, his red rich robes heavily adorned with gold trimming at the hemlines.

There was a scar on his left cheek.

"I suppose it's time for an introduction," he grinned, wolf like. "I am Agamemnon- surely you recognize the name?"

Briseis' mouth opened. _This was the high king of Mycenae_? Hector often spoke of him; according to her elder cousin, his greed sentenced hundreds of people to death everyday and Paris only provided him the perfect excuse to steal from their countrymen. Up close, he seemed every bit as pompous as rumor would have it. And no wonder, kings from all over Greece practically deemed him a god.

"I see my name has quite an effect on you," he laughed, relaxing in his seat. "But I'd like to know what this girl meant about your being royalty? Is this true or is she just another liar I might dispose of?"

Briseis stared at him, unsure of how to respond. If she denied the charge, he would most likely have Chryseis slain. If she said yes, there was no knowing what he'd do. Suddenly, she recalled a small piece of gossip relayed by Hector and an idea swiftly formed from it.

"She's right, I am a princess," she said, hoping he wouldn't notice the betraying flush of her cheeks. She hated lying. "I am the princess of...of...of Lyrnessos!"

"Lyrnessos?" Agamemnon raised an eyebrow. "You must be related to king Mynes then." His smile widened. "Did you know that the Myrmidon plan to sack your city tomorrow? You won't be seeing your precious relatives again!"

"That's of no consequence to me," Briseis replied. "For I hardly know my family. I was sent to serve the sun god from the moment I was born."

"Strange occupation for a princess."

"It was determined by the _stars_!"

"The stars? What rubbish is this?!"

"I was conceived under a bright sign, and our local seer prophesied that I'd bring fortune to any kingdom as a priestess."

"If you think such fabrication will postpone your fate as a concubine, then you're a fool," he drawled. "I don't fall for stories of that kind- especially from the desperate."

"On the contrary," Briseis whispered, "I wouldn't mind that fate, as I hated having to waste my life serving Apollo."

He glared at her and she lowered her lashes, hoping the ruse would work.

"Alright" he muttered, waving for her dismissal. "I'll let your story hold for now. Your friend over there won't be killed...but you'll _both_ still be sharing the same fate, in spite of your imaginary 'good luck'." He sneered maliciously. "In awhile, my guests will be arriving and I'll have them bid for your friend... _if I don't decide to keep her, that is_."

Briseis stared at him, her calm composure belying an inner turmoil at what he had planned.

"And as for _you_...why, I think you'll make a fine prize for my _brother_," Agamemnon gleefully rubbed his beard. "Yes, after that whore of a wife abandoned him, I imagine that Menelaus will need much comforting...women these days have such bad taste, preferring cowardly youths to powerful kings."

It was extremely hard for Briseis not to defend Paris' honor at the insult, and she bit her lip as Agamemnon's guard took her by the arms and led her to another pole at the middle of the tent. There, facing Chryseis, she was tied once again. The other girl was livid with fury.

"_What on earth were you babbling about?!!_" Chryseis hissed, her tone lowered so as not to be heard by the Mycenean king.

Briseis was spared from having to reply when a horde of men filed into the tent. They were all dressed in gleaming armor, and each man had a servant accompanying him, carrying a sack, which contained loot stolen that morning.

In a few minutes, Grecian royalty crowded the whole area with their presence.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Achilles was the last to join the assembly. Without waiting to be acknowledged, he swept by two of Agamemnon's soldiers who were guarding the entrance, and immediately halted in revulsion. The war had not even started, and Agamemnon was already being venerated as if he had personally accomplished an awesome feat. The Achaeans were lining up to pay him homage, offering him valuables from their bulk of treasure. Currently, an old man was kneeling before the Mycenaean, handing him a ceremonial dagger with a gold hilt. Achilles recognized Triopas, the ruler of Thessaly, whose warrior he defeated four months ago.

"You've won a great victory, King of Kings," Triopas gushed, "no one thought the Trojan beach could be conquered so easily."

"This is a beautiful gift, my friend," Agamemnon said, receiving the dagger with relish. "You will be among the first to walk the streets of Troy tomorrow."

Nestor of Pylos was next in line. His sons, the noble princes Antilochus and Thrasymedes, stood by him in greeting.

The Pylian bestowed a shiny urn, decorated with painted warriors. "My father Neleus had this urn made to commemorate his victory at Cyparisseis. I present it to you, in honor of an even more memorable victory."

Agamemnon's grinned. "Thank you, old friend. Tomorrow, we'll eat supper in the gardens of Troy."

Achilles surveyed the nauseating scene with alternating irritation and amusement. It amazed him, how such dignified men could stoop so low before the son of Atreus, who couldn't even lift a finger to help himself.

"War is young men dying and old men talking...you know this," said a familiar voice.

Odysseus approached him, chuckling. "Ignore the politics and you'll survive the night." He patted Achilles' shoulder and drew away, heading for a wooden table where an enormous roasted calf was being served.

Achilles scanned the rest of the crowd with fading interest. A cluster of royals consolidated nearby and he recognized most of his former battle comrades. King Diomedes of Argos was raising a wine goblet and Prince Menestheus of Athens was following the example, lifting his in unison. Together, they downed their drinks and poured the remaining liquid to the floor, as custom dictated. Gathered at another table, Ajax, son of Telamon conversed with likes of King Agapenor of Arcadia and Idomeneus, sovereign of Crete.

Elsewhere, piles of luxurious items were stacked at the base of the enclosure, and two girls -- Trojan priestesses by the looks of their attire -- were tied to twin masts, facing each other. A quiet spat seemed to be taking place between them, and Achilles studied the incident with curiosity. The taller female was glaring daggers at her companion, whispering furiously. The recipient of this ire was trying hard to ignore her predicament, but she would, every now and then, strive to reply in defense. She shifted her head by an inch and Achilles caught a full view of her face.

She had the darkest eyes he had ever seen, and they were made more expressive by her existing anxiousness. Despite the bruise on her upper lip, her mouth was plump and pink as a blossom, and her waist length hair lay disheveled, but in thick and abundant array, framing young features that couldn't have belonged to a maid of more than twenty summers.

Achilles was not unaccustomed to beautiful women but there was a distinct quality to the girl, which made everything pale in comparison. He heard the gist of her 'conversation', and was about to close in when Agamemnon and Menelaus emerged behind the captives.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"_I'll never forgive you for this!!_!" Chryseis said, gritting her teeth. "What were you THINKING?!!...Inventing that _damn_ story about stars- what nonsense! If anything horrible happens to me, you're going to regret it! I'll curse you, curse your family, your children and your children's children, too!"

Briseis sighed in exasperation. "If Agamemnon discovered who my relations were, he would've killed me- or used this knowledge against my family...I couldn't let that happen...But I'm not entirely to blame. _You_ shouldn't have revealed my identity to him, Chryseis, and you know it!"

Chryseis unrepentantly brushed this off. "And what was that ridiculous tale supposed to achieve? Was it designed to impress him? Do you assume your story will solve our problems and bring us back to Troy?!"

"I tried to spare _us_ _both _by convincing him that you were telling the truth. I couldn't have your death on my conscience, but I didn't want to suffer, either."

"And what of Lyrnessos?"

Briseis tiredly leaned back against her post. "Do you honestly believe it's being targeted because of me? The Greeks will pillage as many kingdoms as they wish. They're going to Lyrnessos; it was a plot conceived from the beginning. Nothing I say now or in the future can change what they have in store for this country."

Her statement failed to comfort Khryses' daughter, and a short silence ensued.

"_How now ladies, why the gloomy dispositions?_"

Agamemnon and his brother drew near them and Brisies moaned inwardly. Menelaus was an unpleasant looking man. Gray haired and brawny, he wore a permanent scowl that emphasized the wrinkles on his forehead and he constantly clenched and unclenched his hands, spoiling for a fight. He was a looming specter in her path and the idea of spending the rest of her life with him was downright depressing. She had to think of an escape.

"Is this the girl you spoke of?" Menelaus asked, roughly seizing her by the arm. "She's attractive, but how old is she?"

"My brother asked you a question," Agamemnon demanded, smirking arrogantly.

"I celebrated my eighteenth birthday last month," Briseis truthfully replied, feeling very sorry for Helen indeed. It wouldn't matter whether she was sixteen or thirty. Her sole worth was as a concubine, and if she tried to appear inept, undesirable or rebellious, her life would be at stake. She flicked a worried glance at the gold dagger attached to his belt.

"And you?" Agamemnon asked Chryseis, with a leer. She stubbornly refused to answer him and Briseis' alarm escalated. This was not an occasion to be feisty! She tried to signal the other girl by blinking thrice, but Chryseis would not budge. Did she want them both to lose their heads?!

"She's rather old...about twenty-seven I'd say," Briseis desperately blurted. This succeeded in breaking her companion's obstinacy.

"_Wh...what?!!_" Chryseis gasped in outrage. "Don't listen to that little idiot. "I'M NOT A DAY OVER TWENTY!!!"

"I'm afraid she's sensitive about her age, too." Briseis said, staring straight ahead, avoiding the unflattering glares being thrown in her direction. She was not a schemer, but desperate times called for desperate measures and in the grimness of the situation, Paris would've been proud of her inventiveness. Not that _she_ was.

"Hmm...you're not overly fond of each other, it seems." Agamemnon said, rubbing his chin. "Ah, what difference does it make? You'll be separated soon enough. I'd like to know if any of you possess talents other than praying and quarreling, though."

Once again, Chryseis gave him the cold shoulder and Briseis was compelled to resume her goading. "I don't cook often, but my friend can't fix a meal to save herself."

"_How dare you_!"

"...It's due to her fear of flames and burning things," she went on, unmindful of the fact that her 'friend' was purpling at the affront. "...In fact, she caused an accident last summer, and had to be banned from the kitchen. Worse, she can't play any instrument and her singing so offends the guests at our temple that they leave on the second note."

Chryseis had had enough. She turned to Agamemnon, fluttering her lashes. "Pay no heed to these lies. I am not merely a proficient singer- I can play the lyre and harp, as well!"

"...And I make the _finest_ roast pork in the kingdom." She regarded Briseis in triumph. "This girl's been jealous of me since her arrival at my father's house, which explains her amount of falsehood."

Agamemnon watched their exchange in rapt fascination. "In that case, you wouldn't mind offering _me_ your services...starting now, for instance?"

"What would you have me do?"

The king gestured to the dining table. "Serve meat and wine to every guest available. You can please me _later,_ when we're alone." He had his guards summoned and when they arrived, he ordered for them to untie her. With her ropes loosened, Chryseis tossed her head, enjoying her newfound freedom. She shot a scornful glance at Briseis. "I guess I won't be seeing _you_ again!"

Agamemnon chuckled, watching his latest prize skip off to begin her duties. "Feisty brat, isn't she? A perfect diversion for a man like me."

"I would've strangled her for such insolence," Menelaus muttered.

"Aren't you going to beg for her friend's release?" Agamemnon asked, "Who knows? _She might be better at it than Helen_!"

"Women are whores, the whole lot of them...so I couldn't care less," the jilted husband said, his face bitterly contorted. "I'll carry her off when your assembly's finished and not a minute after."

They departed, leaving the Trojan princess to ponder at what had just happened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This spectacle was, in Achilles' opinion, the highlight of his evening. Stealthy and light-footed, he easily witnessed the entire event without being seen; and by the latter half of their discourse, was deeply intrigued with the Trojan priestess. She seemed lost when they deserted her, but as of the moment was studying the intricate patterns of the floor's carpeting in dismay. Possibly dreading the outcome of their teat-a-teat, he mused.

He strode forward and in a smooth motion, tilted her chin up, looking into her eyes. "_Yes, you must be royalty_," he said, his lips twitching in humor. With those words, he walked off to rejoin the assembly.

Brisies, who had been too absorbed to be wary of anyone, gaped at the retreating figure in surprise. Achilles disappeared into a crowd and she wondered if the blonde man was a figment of her imagination. Was it Apollo who had come to her rescue? She mentally shook herself. Anxiety was a leading cause of madness...that was probably it.

A trickle of perspiration ran down the side of her cheek.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as they had their fill of food and drink, the Achaeans congregated in a circle and Agamemnon clapped his hands for attention.

"Kings and princes, lords and warriors...today is the start of a glorious era for the Greeks." They cheered in agreement. "In a year, our power will increase tenfold. Once we sack the city of Troy, our coffers will overflow with gold and silver. Our livestock, slave count, armor and weaponry shall also multiply with it." He rubbed his brother's back comfortingly. "And this is a result of the effort we exert to defend our honor...let no nation insult Greece by stealing what belongs to him."

Menelaus nodded.

"...Let no nation underestimate us," he boomed. "Let no nation embrace us in friendship, only to break the sacred bond between guest and host, and flee like a coward the next day."

"That original speech sounds eerily like the one you provided when we first set sail." Achilles said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. The men started to laugh at the snide remark, and Agamemnon gripped his throne's armrests, eyeing the younger man hatefully.

"What are you implying, son of Peleus?"

"Get to the point," Achilles said, roughly. "The men are tired from a hard day's work- and another battle awaits them tomorrow. You've said your piece, and reiterating the same message is senseless, not to mention irrational."

"Are you suggesting that my encouragement serves no purpose?"

"I am suggesting that we finish the meeting as early as possible, so that the soldiers can rest."

"Don't presume to lecture me on what's best for them," Agamemnon snarled, "You may be indispensable as a warrior, but my experience makes me your _superior_..."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand the need for adequate sleep, as it is a luxury you take for granted, "Achilles drawled, crossing his arms. "But don't presume that wisdom comes with age- I'm afraid that results from courage...another concept you are unfamiliar with."

"Why don't we divide the plunder among ourselves?" Odysseus hastily interrupted. "As you've said, we do have other armies to fight and it _is getting late_..."

"GET ON WITH IT!" Agamemnon cried, heatedly. How he despised the young, cocky, _insufferable_, king of Phtia!

In less than an hour, the Achaeans had emptied their sacks and bartered most of their wares. The only remaining lot was Achilles', and it was by far the largest. Agamemnon practically salivated at the sight of the gleaming treasure the Mymidons won from the fray. Silver chalices and small golden idols adorned with precious jewels, not to mention twenty talons of bronze and gold.

"Are you going to distribute it, or are you going to have us wait all night?" he asked, barely able to contain his greed.

Achilles drew a partition, marking the items that were to be reserved for the Phtian army. "The prime share of gold goes to my men, as it was through their bravery that these gifts were obtained." He pointed to the remaining bundle. "The rest of you may partake of what is left. How you distribute them is your business, which I'll have no more to do with."

He picked up the most beautiful chalices from the pile. "Do you see these goblets, son of Atreus?" Agamemnon's eyes widened at their radiance. Their hollows were deeper than other cup varieties and they gleamed with polish, their handles vertical and extending above the rims. "These are no ordinary vessels...they are sacred, closely associated with Dionysus, the god of wine. They are employed during festivals and religious events, not to mention sacrifices...they have no equal."

He paused for the Mycenean to digest this.

"...I will give them to you freely if you accept my condition."

Agamemnon almost fell out of his chair. "Say it. What are your terms?"

"You have something I want."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Briseis was in a state of utter shock. When the blonde stranger had vanished, she believed him to be a phantom; a product of her exhaustion and despair. But when the meeting began and the tyrant king was wrapped in his monologue, the phantom stepped up yet again, effectively putting an end to the ridiculousness.

And when his name was mentioned, a wave of dizziness proceeded and she thought she might faint.

Achilles.

The son of Peleus. A man reputed to be the greatest warrior who ever lived.

Achilles.

Slayer of thousands. The most feared king in all of Greece.

ACHILLES.

Troy's most dangerous adversary, the topic of many a conversation, and a force rumored to be a descendant of the immortals.

It was only natural that he'd be among the gathering...but why had he singled her out and in such a peculiar manner? Was he making fun of her? Or was he too plain drunk to realize what he was doing?

So chaotic were her ruminations that she barely concentrated on what went on...until the level of din indicated that the party had ceased.

The sound of footsteps broke her train of thought, and she looked up.

...There he was again. Standing before her, his gaze dark and intent with some hidden secret.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was easier than he anticipated. For once, Achilles was thankful for Agamemnon's greed and Menelaus' subservience. Initially, the king of Sparta objected when the terms of trade were declared, but it took his elder brother five minutes to convince him to agree to the bargain. "Those chalices are a rarity...and remember the ill fortune you said all women bring?" Agamemnon cajoled. "That goes for this girl, too. For all you know, she's probably a troublemaker who will run off with the first young man she sees."

Menelaus grimaced, the deal was finalized and Achilles eagerly revisited his temple maid.

She grew pale upon seeing him, but he smiled reassuringly. He removed a makeshift dagger from his waist and she gasped, obviously frightened of the weapon. Gently, he cut the ropes around her arms and ankles, and when the cords lay in shreds at her feet, she looked up at him, warily. She was a little bit of a thing, below average height for a female, prettier than most, not as sophisticated as others.

She was definitely royalty.

It was apparent in her stance, the queenly way she carried herself...her diction and mannerisms. He knew a lady when he saw one, but this girl was different. She didn't have the airs so many daughters of the court possessed. She was an innocent and in a very appealing way.

He held his arm out, offering her his hand. She continued to look at it and at him, but she made as if to retreat, backing up 'til she bumped against the post.

"It's alright. I won't hurt you," he said, and then frowned. "Did you sprain your ankle? I could carry you if you like."

She shook her head, staring at the ground. He was about to reassure her further when she looked up... and lifted her hand in acceptance.

He grabbed it, along with its partner, and took a moment to examine them. Her wrists were sore, but her hands were small and white. Twining their fingers together, he noted that his hands were twice the size of hers, and that they engulfed them completely. After a moment of marveling at her softness, of delighting in her fair arms and delicate fingers, he escorted her out of the tent, his servant trailing behind them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_(to be continued...)_

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: And so the couple finally meet! 

As always, if you like this fic, please support it and leave a review. If you don't, please leave suggestions for improvement. I'd really like to know what I'm doing right, and what I'm doing wrong.

_Extra Notes_:

Odysseus: According to the sources, he tried to stall his trip to Troy by pretending that he was crazy. Obviously, they saw through the trick. That's what he was referring to, when he talked to Achilles on the beach in the first scene.

Chryseis: Obviously, she doesn't have a personality in the Iliad...she doesn't even have a scene, come to think of it. But according to Euripides, Agamemnon brought her home with him. In this fic, she is written this way in order to complement Agamemnon's Troy 'persona'. He liked her even more than his wife in the Iliad. So I gave Chryseis an attitude that would complement him perfectly.

The guests at the assembly: I got most of their names and origins right. Diomedes of Argos, Idomeneus of Crete, etc. But I'm not sure if they're kings or princes...because the Iliad doesn't always mention it. For example, the book mentions that Diomedes is the son of Tydeus, but it doesn't say whether Tydeus is dead...oh, never mind that.

The beautiful cups from Achilles' loot: Forgot what they're called, but they do exist and they were associated with Dionysus, the god of wine. I just don't know if they were used for festivals or sacrifices. Those were extra details I added. I'm also not sure in what exact period of ancient Greek history they were made.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	7. Please07

-

-

_Several men surrounded them. She had warned Paris that sneaking of to the festival was a bad idea, but the imp had to have his way, and as a result they found themselves lost and cornered by a group of leering drunks. One man brought his face so close to hers that she could smell a foul odor coming from him, undoubtedly a result of imbibing too much wine._

_He barred his yellow teeth and reached for her, his large hands grabbing at her breasts._

"_Aw, come on love," he whined when she slapped his hands away. "Don' be so selfish! Gimme a lil' of what you've got and we can all go home and be happy!"_

"_I'm afraid she's not for sale," Paris said, blocking her from the offender. "But if you wish to bed a whore, you can go to town and find plenty willing to stomach a night with you!" _

"_Fresh words from cowering mutt," the man sneered and his fist shot out and struck Paris on the cheek. Paris went down like a wilting flower and the men laughed at the fallen youth. She gasped and made a move to help her cousin…only to be prevented by another man who imprisoned her from behind with both arms._

"_You're better off without him, girl," her captor said, his breath tickling her ear. "Why stand by a weakling when you can have a man such as I?" His companions laughed when she tried to kick and claw herself free. _

"_Let go of me!" she cried, but their laughter increased tenfold. Paris lay unconscious on the ground, his face buried in the dirt; unable to hear her struggles and shouts. "You will regret this!" she finally said, and the arms around her tightened in response._

"_Oh really? And what's to prevent me from taking you right here?" the man holding her asked mockingly, and she winced when he stooped to lick the base of her neck with his smelly tongue._

Briseis awoke in a cold sweat, her back damp with perspiration. She sighed when she realized that it had been but a dream, and that the scoundrels were nowhere to be found. That event had been a dark chapter in her life- and in Paris' life as well; it was a good thing Hector found them just in time to prevent the worst from happening. The man had pushed her to the ground beside Paris, she recalled vividly…and was about to lift her gown when Hector and a band of Trojan soldiers came to their rescue. She was only fourteen years of age back then, and it was the last time she ever accompanied Paris during his nightly jaunts.

Her momentary relief ended when she suddenly remembered what transpired the previous evening. The Greeks were thorough in their invasion, so much that they captured the Trojan beach in the course of an afternoon. Apollo's temple was sacked and she was brought to Agamemnon's tent to be paraded like a horse at an auction block. Just when things couldn't get any worse, _he_ had arrived. Achilles had approached her without warning, freed her from the _Atreidei_ and claimed her as his own. When the congregation was over, he had taken her from the high king's tent and led her into his abode. She had been so exhausted from the ordeal that she practically sank into the white fleece he deposited her in, falling asleep before fully comprehending this strange twist of fate.

She looked around the dimly lit interior and saw that the famed warlord was absent. Rugs covered the powdery white sand of his makeshift home, and scattered here and there were items the Myrmidon had supposedly acquired from their first plunder. Gold and silver chalices were stacked into piles; woven tapestries of various colors were draped on boxes and wooden stools…and on a small table to her right, a large black amphora was filled to the brim with grape wine.

The tent was hardly a setting for royalty, but one glance at the treasure within was enough to give a clue as to the wealth of its owner.

Without warning, the flaps covering the tent's entrance were jostled and Achilles entered the enclosure, making her jump in surprise. So light footed was he that she had not even heard him coming. Briseis stared at him, open-mouthed. His armor was tainted in blood, his hair was rumpled and his face was smudged with dirt and grime…all telling results, no doubt, of being involved in the latest raid.

He smiled at her and dropped his sword on the nearest animal skin. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, then gestured to the dark jar on a table beside her. "I see you haven't touched your wine - would you rather have something else? There's a bit of leftover meat from the feast last evening."

Briseis continued to stare at him in silence and Achilles raised an eyebrow, guessing that she was probably horrified from his unkempt appearance. Deciding that she had suffered enough trauma to last a lifetime, he went about making himself more presentable. Sitting on a stool, he stripped of his bronze greaves and began to unbuckle the leather straps that held his cuirass together. He was about to remove the tunic at his waist when she gasped. He looked up and beheld her frowning at him in indignation, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Achilles suppressed the urge to laugh. Of course, he hadn't been in the presence of a lady for so long that he had forgotten how sheltered women of the court were. This one, being especially young, had probably never laid eyes on a naked man's chest. "My apologies, but you'll have to look away for the moment," he said, chuckling. When she did, he removed his tunic and wrapped a thigh length loin guard around his waist. Normally, for another woman, he wouldn't have bothered with the show of decency but he had already established that this girl was different.

"My lord?" a voice called from the outside.

"You may enter," he ordered, and four serving women came in, each pair carrying a large bucket of steaming water. When they left, he grabbed a wet sponge and began to clean himself, once in awhile throwing curious glances in his captive's direction. She was now faced towards the opposite side of the quarter, possibly devising a means of escape.

"You're safer here than out there, believe me," he said.

Once thoroughly clean, he made a quiet approach, and Briseis winced when the fleece-lined bed sank from his added weight. Sitting beside her, he reached out to touch a strand of her hair. "What's your name?"

She refused to answer, and he prodded, "Even the servants of Apollo have names."

"You killed Apollo's priests," she finally said, still staring straight ahead, determined to remain aloof.

"I kill men who defend their countries…I don't kill priests."

"Then your men did…the sun god will have his vengeance!" Briseis babbled, not caring if her words would cause offense. Common sense deserted her, and she momentarily forgot the frightening tales soldiers told of him. He and his Myrmidon were the cause of all her troubles. If her accusations angered him, he more than deserved it!

"Well, where is he?" Achilles asked, amused but more than a little disturbed. He couldn't be bothered with what others thought of him, but her agitation affected more than he cared to admit.

"Waiting for the right time to strike!"

"His priests are dead and his acolytes are captive…I think your god is afraid of me."

"Afraid!" She turned to look at him this time, shocked to the core by his blasphemy. Did he not fear Apollo's wrath? "Apollo is master of the sun…he fears nothing."

"Then where is he?"

"You wouldn't know anything about the gods! Have you no shame? Your army killed several unarmed priests yesterday…they did not deserve to be slain in such a manner... they were men of peace."

He said nothing for a long minute, and when he lifted his other hand she averted her face, thinking he meant to strike her. To her amazement, he merely nodded, and rested his hand on her shoulder. "_You're right_…like most soldiers, my men are often too caught up in battle rage to make the distinction between their opponents. I myself never condoned the practice of slaying the helpless, yet I never spoke against it. Perhaps I'll have a word with them on the matter during our next meet."

"Are… are you saying that you agree with me?" Briseis asked, wondering if he was serious or merely pretending so as to gain her cooperation.

Achilles smiled and their eyes met. His expression softened and he stood up. "Why, yes. Is it so hard to believe that I'd be willing to remedy an injustice? I'm glad you mentioned it, in fact." He pointed to the remaining bucket of water across the tent. "That one's for your personal use. Lovely as you are, you need a proper bath. I can't have you walking around smelling like _trout_ now, can I?"

He donned a black tunic and exited the tent, leaving her in privacy to bathe.

-

-

Briseis watched the warlord take his leave. She hadn't expected him to agree with her so easily. If anything, she expected an outburst of anger on his end, and a quick demise on hers. Moreover, he wasn't _at all_ what she thought he would be. She tried to recall what the local Trojan gossips said of him.

_Achilles is a monster. A madman who would throw his spear at Zeus himself if the god so angered him. _

_Achilles is a savage, a warrior so skilled in battle that the mere mention of his name sends hundreds scurrying for their lives. _

_Achilles is a warmonger. A man who would kill another for the slightest insult to his honor._

Some stories, she was forced to admit, were a bit exaggerated.

_The beast is so in love with the art of war that he decorates his palace with the skins of those he has slain._

_The brute is so heartless that he won't bother to make the distinction between man and woman, adult and child, opponent and innocent victim. To him, all are ripe for the killing._

And the worst, personal favorite of those who feared him:

_He decapitates his hardiest opponents, collects their heads as trophies…and even drinks their blood to make him stronger._

When Achilles first entered the tent, he had looked downright dangerous, his mane-like hair tousled as a lion's, his eyes intense, and his muscular, athletic form covered with blood. Their conversation went a long way in humanizing him and yet, she mused, nothing could remove the aura of invincibility that surrounded him. The gossips were right to proclaim him godlike. Achilles looked very much like a human Apollo. His hair was golden as the sun, his eyes blue as the morning sky and his body bronzed from the many summers he spent outdoors…most likely battling up a storm.

How a gifted killer could be endowed with a physique more suited to an immortal was beyond her, but then again appearances could be deceiving. The handsomest face could hide the blackest of hearts and the brightest smile could be but a cover for maliciousness.

But why exert such an effort just to gain her favor? Briseis had to admit that in as much as she _wanted_ to believe in his supposed deception, the idea of Achilles trying so hard to appear friendly to her—his _prisoner_, ugly as it sounded— was illogical and nothing short of ridiculous. Hector had said that he was a man who did 'damn well as he pleased', so why in heaven's name would he even stoop so low as to pretend for her sake? If rumor was to be believed, he was more likely to be shockingly blunt and enjoy doing so, than deceiving so as to gain someone else's approval. If anything, he was probably used to people catering to _him_, not the other way around. No, she mentally concluded. Achilles could be many things, but a liar was not one of them.

Not liking the direction her thoughts were taking, she eyed the bucket of water across the tent. It would be traitorous of her to freely accept him, but what good would it do to stubbornly refuse a bath so graciously offered? Briseis scooted towards the pail of steaming water. She picked up a soft cloth, wet it, and began to scrub herself thoroughly, practically disrobing in the process. When she was almost done, she discovered bottles of oil and perfume laid out on a stool for her use. She refused to open them; for fear that anointing herself with the sweet smelling fluids would entice Achilles into taking her as soon as he got a whiff. Not that staying odorless would prevent the inevitable, an ominous voice inside her said.

At that instant, Achilles abruptly reentered the tent.

Briseis gasped out loud. With her priestly robes gathered at her feet, she stood before him, naked as a child on its day of birth. She covered her breasts with her hands, feeling her cheeks turn red, and her eyes tear in humiliation. Never had she been so exposed to a man before. That he, of all men, should behold her in such a vulnerable state! With shaking hands, she gathered her soiled robes and made a clumsy attempt at decency. The endeavor lasted longer than it should have, with the gown slipping from her fingers at least twice.

Achilles took one good look at her and said nothing. His eyes darkened and he clenched his teeth; with her dark, curly hair flowing over a body that could've been sculpted in porcelain, she resembled a woodland goddess from tales of old. Her breasts were full, and the nipples at their peaks were as rosy as her cheeks and lips. Her waist was trim and her thighs shapely; no amount of covering on her part could conceal her true form…even the maidenly curves of her neck and arms were alluring.

She was absolutely beautiful to him and it was a considerable struggle on his part not to take her then and there. He walked forward and she took a backward step, shaking her head in panic, her eyes pleading with him.

"It's alright," Achilles soothed. He held out his hand, and she saw that he was holding a simple, brown garment. "I obtained this outside for you to wear. It's not much, but _you_ were not in my plans when I joined this war."

Briseis sighed with relief and took the robe from him, gratefully clothing herself with it. It was a plain makeshift tunic, made from the simplest of fabrics and embroidered in brown threads. It reminded her of what the servants in Ilium wore, but she didn't mind, vastly preferring it to her gown, which was now torn up.

Achilles regretfully watched his priestess conceal her body from him. "That dress does not do you justice, I'm afraid. I'll have to give you something better next time," he said, his face carefully expressionless. "Something far more valuable."

"It…it's not necessary," she said tightly, clutching her old robe to her chest, her eyes downcast.

"It's _very_ necessary," he replied, and turned to leave once more. "I'll be attending to other pressing matters and won't be back for a couple of hours. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. I'll have a platter of food brought to you shortly."

"…Oh, and one more thing, girl," he said over his shoulder. "You needn't fear me. You're the only Trojan who can say that."

The young king departed, and the Trojan princess sank onto a nearby stool. She did not like surprises; men often met their doom while they were caught unawares. Yet Achilles had promised her safety, and she had already convinced herself that lying was beneath him. With each passing second, he became more of a mystery to her, his every word, gesture and action causing confusion in their unpredictability.

Unbeknownst to Briseis, the warrior was already beginning to feel the same way about her— a girl whose name he did not know— but whose very presence unsettled him in a manner no one would have thought possible.

-

-

"You're raiding Skyros tomorrow, aren't you?"

Achilles sighed and closed his eyes. Somehow, he could never get used to his cousin's nagging. He found Patroclus sitting on a log before a row of tents, absently cracking his knuckles. The boy wore a scowl on his face and Achilles winced at the sight, sure that another troublesome argument was well on its way.

"Not tomorrow…in a week or two, once the men have settled."

"Remind me again why I can't join the raiding," Patroclus demanded, rising from his low position. "From what I was told, the kingdom of Skyros have ill trained soldiers and a pitiful fortress. They're sure to be afraid of you as soon as we set foot on their land, and with that fear to our advantage, I doubt I'd be in much danger if I came along."

"Military competence is hardly the issue," Achilles replied. "They may call for help from other neighboring towns and while I am confident we can handle anything they throw at us, we would still have a long fight on our hands. I would rather you stayed here for the moment."

"Then why in Zeus' name did you bring me along if I'm not allowed to fight like a man!" The boy's voice rose a notch. "I feel as useless as a broken spear and the others are surely laughing at me behind my back for having to stay and keep house."

"Patroclus, we've been through this before." Achilles rubbed the aching muscles at the back of his neck. "I've already told you that only a fully trained Myrmidon may participate in actual combat, and I won't send you out there unprepared." He placed a comforting hand on his cousin's arm. "Even _I_ had to complete my apprenticeship under Chiron before I could enter my first war…and when that happened I _still _had to play squire for the other, more experienced soldiers before being permitted to join." He sat on a log and bade his cousin do the same.

"Glory isn't solely about participation. You may think that becoming a Myrmidon automatically bestows honor to a man, but believe me when I say that the journey he takes before earning that status counts just as much."

"…So train hard. Very few are given this opportunity. In a year or two you'll be finished and there'll be nothing more I can teach you." He hugged the boy tightly. "Surely that's not too long a wait, is it?"

Patroclus sighed, knowing he had lost this altercation. Achilles would not budge and as such, it would be wise not to press him further. "Granted, I haven't finished my training…but I hate feeling inept. Why, just yesterday, Thersites asked if I needed help ladling the stew onto my plate. I recognize sarcasm when I see it."

"He said _that!_ " Anger darkened Achilles' features, and a muscle twitched dangerously in his jaw. He began to rise, only to be barred by Patroclus' flailing arm.

"DON'T, PLEASE!" Patroclus shouted, his lips quivering in mortification. "If you confront him now, it will only prove he's right and that I'm incapable of handling anything."

Abashed, the warlord sat down. "I apologize, but the _dog_ can aggravate more than you know of. Even Odysseus lost his temper with him once, and struck him soundly on the head after speaking disrespectfully at an assembly of kings."

"I can't imagine Lord Odysseus doing such a thing."

"Well, he did— and I don't blame him. Thersites is a leech, a wine bibber, who tends to run off the mouth without thinking…and he's a coward to boot. He plays dice with Palamedes all day and has the gall to call _you_ useless? Why, Patroclus, I'd bet my life that you've lifted a sword far more times than he has."

The boy's frown slowly transformed into a smile and he laughed, uplifted by the notion that he possessed more courage than the old troublemaker who no one could seem to endure.

Achilles grinned, glad to finally be able to get through to his young charge. "That was not an exaggeration. Everyone knows how the man would rather laze around than help his comrades…and with that reputation, why should you care what he thinks? His mind is skewed and his judgment irrational. Think no more of his insults. If they bother you so much, then you can call him out with my blessing. I have no doubt you'll make short work of him!"

With the gloomy mood now past him, Patroclus agreed with his mentor's reliable plan and together, they went off for another sparring session.

-

-

She would not have thought it possible, but the man grew more complicated by the moment. Briseis had witnessed the scene in the confines of the warlord's tent and it eerily reminded her of one between Hector and Paris. Except for the fact that Paris had no wish to fight as the young boy did. But Achilles…his surprising protectiveness, not to mention his gentle, yet sound reasoning were unbelievable to her. He was making a very strange first impression- one she was both placated and uncomfortable with. Achilles was not supposed to behave this way! Didn't the local town gossips say…

The tent flaps opened once more and she stilled herself, anticipating a second entrance from him.

Instead, a bearded man of medium height made his way through the small dwelling, holding a platter of delicacies in one hand and a bronze sword in the other.

Eudorus carefully placed the platter of food in front of her. "Your midday meal, _milady_. Lord Achilles bade me deliver this to you…and requests that you try the salted meat before latching onto the fruit."

Startled by the respectful manner in which she was addressed, Briseis studied the burly soldier with uncertainty. This would have to be Achilles' right hand man…his amiability was a perfect match for his master's, but was it a trick to gain her cooperation? The smell of fresh meat made her lose her train of thought. Her stomach rumbled, and she suspiciously peered at the scrumptious feast. Strips of salted pork were scattered at the center of the gold-rimmed plate, and generous helpings of nuts, grapes and apples served as side dishes to the main course.

_Were they poisoned, or laced with some secret drug, which would render her unconscious and vulnerable to a man's lusts?_

Eudorus sighed and bent down. Achilles had guessed that the priestess would be wary of taking food from those she considered her enemies and— in the event that she hesitated— had left instructions with him to taste the food for her benefit. Taking a small portion of each item, he stuffed them into his mouth and, once the task was over, wiped his beard with the back of his hand. "As were his orders my lady…for your peace of mind…"

"I thank you" Briseis said lamely, torn between gratefulness and embarrassment. The food tasting was exactly what she needed; yet she felt foolish for worrying so much. She reached for a strip of meat and the soldier nodded, satisfied that he could now leave and join the rest of the Myrmidons in their sparring session. He was about to walk out when an idea occurred to him…and he turned to address the girl his king seemed to want so desperately. She was now eating as quickly as possible, smacking her lips in pleasure and licking her dainty fingers with relish.

"He isn't the monster you take him for," he started and she paused at this unusual remark, her teeth sinking into a slice of red apple.

"Wh…what?" she mumbled, swallowing the last portion of fruit. The Myrmidon was staring at her intently, as if the firmness of his expression could make her understand an essential truth.

"Lord Achilles is one of the best men I know…and I consider myself fortunate to serve him."

Lips parted in mild surprise, Briseis looked at him for a scant second before directing her gaze towards her unfinished meal. She either would not or could not react to this statement however, and her stubborn silence prompted a greater show of fidelity from him.

"He has his faults but every man does. Furthermore, he fights his own battles- a feat many kings fall short off."

"It…it is precisely his fighting that has me concerned," she said carefully, clamping her hands together as was her habit when nervous. "Your master killed plenty of my countrymen…and many men for that matter. It would be difficult—no, impossible—for me to come to terms with that."

"My master bore the Trojans no ill will, he said so himself on many an occasion," Eudorus protested. "He would have left your kingdom alone had it not been for the unforgivable slight to one of our neighbors… nonetheless, a man's courage in battle should determine his merit; there is no crime in slaying an enemy when it is a soldier's duty to do so."

"And when that enemy is unarmed and defenseless?" Her tone carried a hint of bitterness as she recalled the sacking of the temple.

"It is interesting that you should mention that, as Lord Achilles instructed us just now to focus our efforts on armed men."

This unexpected reply sent Briseis into a state of speechlessness. That the warlord had taken her earlier accusations seriously was confounding. She assumed that Achilles' agreements were honest but condescending and unreliable. The realization that he _had_ considered her words—and that she was once again mistaken in her assessment of him, was a revelation. Her failure to come up with a suitable retort convinced her verbal opponent of his success, and Eudorus decided that it was time for him to leave. Making a beeline for the tent's opening with a smile of triumph etched on his face, he threw his parting shot. "You might also want to remember that, if Lord Achilles were truly unreasonable, he would never have taken the advice of a _priestess_ to heart."

He saw her unwillingness to challenge this bit of logic as a good sign.

-

-

Achilles arrived late in the evening from a grueling day of overseeing the camp. He found his captive sitting on a corner of the bed, and on close inspection he realized that she was struggling to keep awake. His lips twitched in amusement. "I'm sorry I took so long, but I had to make sure our ship's provisions were properly loaded and that the army was supplied. You were waiting for me, I hope?"

Not knowing the proper answer, Briseis refused to rise to his bait. Maintaining an appearance of dignity and aloof pride required all her faculties, yet the effect was ruined by her constant yawning and sleep ridden countenance. She watched him lay his sword and armor down to begin his bathing ritual. "Do you want to assist me in this?" he asked teasingly, waving a washcloth in her direction.

"Um…," she faltered, trying to decide if refusing the offer was feasible and he laughed, enjoying himself greatly. "It's alright. I was just jesting…I have no intentions of dirtying you up. Wait patiently and I'll join you in awhile."

Briseis gulped. Of course, they would have to share a bed! So absorbed was she in her newly found discoveries of him that she failed to pay heed to the current sleeping arrangement. But he promised not to do anything, so there was no cause for worry, was there? She decided to avoid the uncomfortable situation by sleeping ahead, so as not to be disturbed.

Achilles watched her lie down facing the other side of the enclosure, squeezing her body into the smallest available space. He saw through her ploy though, and chuckled softly as he rinsed himself with water. It was only natural that the girl would be uncomfortable, but it suddenly became imperative that she learn a valuable lesson…that he never took a woman by force, no matter what the provocation.

Once his washing was done, Achilles stood over the bed, studying her. Her eyes were closed tightly, but he could tell from her rapid breathing that she was awake and fully conscious of his presence. He lifted a lock of hair from her cheek and brushed it aside, sensing her light flinch at the unbidden contact. He lay beside her then, and gave her a few minutes to adjust to the feeling of his added weight on the bed. Finally, when that was over, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close, tucking her head underneath his chin.

Briseis gasped at the sensation of a large body behind her, and when strong arms wrapped themselves around her breasts and waist, her first instinct was to twist free from the heated embrace. It was a useless struggle, as his arms only tightened in reaction. He said nothing when she gave up, but he raised his hand and began to stroke her stomach in a soothing motion.

"I won't be preoccupied with anything tomorrow, and I suspect we'll be spending the rest of the day together." There was a smile in his voice as he spoke. "You can go visit the river for a spell…that's where they'll be taking the female captives."

With his breath tickling her ear, she found it hard to concentrate on what he was saying. "Wh…what will they be doing there?"

"Some of the men send their women to do the washing, provided they are watched by a well armed guard. I don't regard you as a servant, nor do I plan on heaping any tasks on you, but a visit to the site sounds like a pleasant way to spend the morning…who knows? You may find a friend there."

"…And we can find a way to amuse ourselves later. I can give you a tour of the camp after addressing my men. Whatever the case, I think it best that the entire army recognize you as my _consort_. It will prevent unruly soldiers from attacking when you have the inclination to go out for a breath of fresh air."

She mumbled something inaudible at that, and Achilles leaned over her, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze. "What did you say?" he asked.

"Briseis…my name is Briseis," she said, looking up at him with her large brown eyes.

"Briseis," he repeated, glad that she eventually chose to share her name with him. "That's a beautiful name. Sleep well, Briseis…you've an exhausting day ahead of you."

Lulled by his caressing hands and the calming beat of his heart at her back, it was hard not to do as he requested. In less than half an hour, she was fast asleep in his arms.

-

(_to be continued…_)

-

-

Author's note: My humble apologies for this late chapter! I've been job hunting as of late, and I suffered a huge writer's block after writing the first half. Rest assured, I will finish this fanfic…I already have an outline- a general idea where all this is headed, so no need to worry about my abandoning this story. Completing Please, Achilles, Please will take awhile though, so please bear with me.

To the reviewer named "Christine"- as you can see, my scenes don't follow the plot of the movie anymore. This fic is based on the movie, but there will definitely be a lot of changes and a couple of elements from the book thrown in.

Another thing. I've posted my latest Troy fan art at www(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)view(slash)14620622

_Extra Notes:_

Atreidei: Referring to Agamemnon and Menelaus, men of the house of _Atreus_.

Amphora/Amphorae: A two-handled jar with a narrow neck used by the ancient Greeks and Romans to carry wine or oil.

Thersites: One of the most dislikeable members of the Greek camp. It is a fact that Odysseus and Achilles lost their tempers with him in the sources.

Palamedes: I forget if he was Agamemnon and Menelaus' cousin. He is related to them anyway.

Wine bibber: One of the insults Achilles (of the Iliad) uses on those he hates.


	8. Please08

* * *

The washing place was located in a minor branch of Scamander River, which flowed through Troy and forked into the surrounding seas of the kingdom. Shielding her eyes from the blinding sun, Briseis positioned herself beneath an old willow tree and glanced apprehensively at the armed soldiers behind her- men Achilles had ordered to escort and protect her during this venture. She would've been more relaxed were it not for her current state, as the area was quite picturesque, what with the range of trees forming a canopy over the landscape. Rushes, reeds and wildflowers were scattered along the riverbank, where groups of women clustered to do the daily cleaning. Overhead, a flock of birds flew to warmer pastures, signaling the change of season. 

Briseis scanned the group of women before her. Some were richly dressed and finely adorned, adequately endowed by generous captors, no doubt- while some wore simple peasants garb, and had most likely been given to miserly slave drivers. Regardless of former rank or wealth, all women were slaves now, and equals in the eyes of their new masters. Baskets filled with clothing to be washed, coupled with drying blankets hanging from trees, reminded her of this grim fact. Yards off, a gathering of soldiers—other than the Myrmidons accompanying her— stood on guard to ensure that none of them escaped.

To her far right, a lady seemed to be taking her situation worse than the others. She was sitting on the edge of the riverbank, tearing her hair and crying her eyes out. Her wailing grew so loud that the women began to cover their ears and throw looks of irritation at her.

"_Why is this happening to me!"_ she wailed, clutching her robe so tightly it looked as if she were trying to rip it to shreds. "I was the daughter of a prince…now I'm nothing but chattel in a house of murderers!" Unmindful of the tears streaming down her face, she lifted her shaking fists, wringing them in agitation. "I prayed so hard to escape the enemy. What use is the sacrifice of a dozen hecatombs if I am to waste my youth in such wretched company!"

"Whine a little louder, my dear- so that the Greeks can hear you," a nasty, laughing voice replied. Briseis' eyes widened when a figure approached the desolate girl. It was Chryseis.

"That's right. Cry louder so that the men guarding this area can hear you. You'll be less of a problem for all of us if your throat gets slit!" Chryseis wrinkled her nose in distaste, eyeing the woman's soiled dress. "I see your master hasn't been as generous as mine…no wonder you're making such a fuss!"

The girl gnashed her teeth at the stinging comment, and her face reddened with anger. "How…how dare you speak to me like that! Do you know who I am! I am related to King Enyeus of Skyros! And you're wrong to think my downtrodden state gives you the right to insult me!

"What a treasure you are!" Chryseis tossed her hair in mockery. "It's certainly an honor to be in the presence of such _illustrious_ company. Perhaps you can call your royal entourage to escort you to the palace at Skyros…for a quick dress change, I hope. I could smell your rags' stench from the opposite side of the river!"

Briseis heard several women laugh, but she remained quiet, troubled by the developing fray. Leave it to Chryseis to start an upset. Then again, the other girl wasn't making matters easy for the rest of the captives, either. She had turned pale with embarrassment, but was unable to find a suitable retort- and how could she? Chryseis was regally dressed- resplendent in a robe of shimmering colors, a mantle fastened on her left shoulder in a way that was fashionable for ladies of the court. So…the high king had been generous, as he had promised. His favorite's impressive wardrobe and excessive confidence all but said it.

Chryseis was about to continue harassing her opponent when she caught sight of Briseis, and her malicious smirk deepened. Briseis felt no trepidation as her former nemesis made a beeline towards her. She was quite used to the other woman's cattiness- nothing the harpy could do now— or in the future, could affect her in any way.

"Why, hello Briseis- this is an unexpected surprise. When Lord Achilles carried you off from the assembly a few nights ago, I thought we'd never meet again. Does he treat you well?" she sniggered. "Do tell us about his fine collection of head trophies. You'd better be careful though, or he'll cut your head off if not satisfied with your _performance_…"

Briseis was spared from replying by the angry soldiers behind her. The loyal Myrmidons had not taken kindly to the affront, and one of them drew his sword from its sheath. "You dare to insult Lord Achilles, woman?" he snarled, raising his arm, getting ready to strike her down.

Chryseis' gasped as she beheld the advancing warrior, the point of his weapon gleaming against the morning light. "I…I didn't mean it! I-" she sputtered, nearly choking in fear. "Lord Achilles is…is…the most _amiable_ of men…and I was just…just…"

"And how would you know that, eh?" he sneered. "Have you met him?" His comrades began to laugh when she shook her head, backing up against the water's edge. "Well…no, but…" she was speaking mindlessly, but the desire to live seemed to outweigh her pride for the moment. "He…has a very…good _reputation_ and…"

Having Chryseis as far away as possible was the equivalent of receiving ambrosia from the gods, but Briseis would not have an innocent's death on her conscience, and she decided that some form of intervention was needed. "The king of Phtia treats me with respect," she said reluctantly, her soft admission halting the soldier in his tracks. "It was his idea I spend time here- to be able to relax and meet new friends." The men raised their eyebrows at this pretty speech, but she had succeeded in diverting the avenger, making him lower his weapon. With a cold glance he considered her and – when a minute or two passed, finally shrugged and left his prey to rejoin the crowd.

When Achilles' men retreated to the perimeter of the stream, Chryseis' sighed in relief, sitting down on a rock to catch her breath. "I suppose you'll want my gratitude for that daring rescue attempt," she said bitterly, unable to meet the Trojan princess' gaze. "I don't understand why you have an armed guard for a chaperone when none of us do. Forgive me if I don't see what makes you so special- you were parading your status back home and now you're at it again!"

Briseis felt the first stirrings of pity as she watched Khryses' daughter- so proud and willful that adapting to the life of a slave was made even more difficult. Chryseis' was still panting from her recent scare, and a few feet away the other girl was giggling merrily at the spectacle.

"Not so arrogant now, are you!" she crowed, holding her sides to keep from falling over. "I was hoping you'd back up into the river and fall right in! The expression in your face was hilarious. An open-mouthed trout caught in a net- no wonder you're so comfortable here. Murky water suits you best, so swim along _my dear_, and join your fishy friends! The river god is waiting for youto make you his queen next quarter!"

"Iphis, that's enough!" an older woman cried, rising from her squatting position in the grass. She came towards the laughing girl and laid a hand on her shoulder. "You were not sent here to quarrel with your peers- so kindly do your duty and attend to the washing."

"Well, fancy that!" Iphis snapped. "You're not being very fair, Hecamede- you scold me for defending myself, but you won't reprimand this _swaggering braggart_ for starting the fight!"

Chryseis rose in fury and was about to charge, but Briseis held her in place with both hands, distressed that so much trouble could occur in the course of a morning. "The Myrmidons are watching this scene, and they have little patience with you as it is," she whispered in Chryseis' ear. "If you do anything more to add to the disturbance, they may not be as merciful as they were awhile ago." Desperation lay beneath the veiled threat, and while she hated using this tactic, it was the only available option. Fortunately, it worked. Humiliated, Chryseis roughly threw her arresting hands off, and strode away.

"Your friend should learn to control her temper," the older woman said, but there was mirth in her tone. "Yet I admit that Iphis did contribute a fair share in the argument- so I cannot help but apologize for her." Briseis studied the elderly captive. Her lengthy, wavy tresses were threaded with gray and there were fine lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She was an attractive woman despite her age, and the wisdom in her countenance was almost motherly.

"I am Hecamede- consort to king Nestor of Pylos. You are familiar with him, I hope?"

"Lord Nestor attended the assembly of kings- the same event where Lord Achilles bought me," Briseis said. "But I have not had the privilege of meeting him in person, if that's what you mean." She gestured at Iphis, who was promptly struggling to remove a stain from a dirty cloak. "Is she related to you?"

"I'm grateful she isn't," Hecamede laughed. "I was taken from the Island of Tenedos off the coast of the Troad. I'm currently employed in King Nestor's household as a serving woman- and occasionally, I am tasked to care for his sons." She peered curiously at her. "Don't you have anything to wash? We only have an hour 'til noon."

"Lord Achilles bade me go here for a spell, but that is all…I could help with your chores- if it's alright with you."

"Are you certain he wouldn't mind? He seems rather protective of you."

"I'm sure he wouldn't," Briseis said, flushing with self-consciousness. "I was sent to keep busy, and since there is nothing else to do…"

They spent the remainder of the day discussing their past lives while attending to the laundry.

* * *

Achilles smiled when he spotted her at the far end of the beach. She appeared more relaxed than usual, and for that he was thankful. Like a bride being led to her awaiting groom, the small party ushered Briseis forward, bowing when they stood before him. 

"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked.

"The weather was rather pleasant, and so were the ladies I met," she said half-truthfully, accepting his hand as it engulfed hers. "For that, I thank you." She then did the unthinkable and smiled at him, and he was taken aback by the heartfelt show of gratitude. Linking their fingers, he dismissed his soldiers and guided her to his tent, where a meal had been prepared. Several wooden planks were nailed together to form a low table, and platters of salted meat and fruit were laid on the centerpiece. They ate for several minutes in companionable silence- Achilles pleased that she was beginning to feel at ease with him, and Briseis complacent, enthusiastically adding second helpings to her plate.

* * *

When they finished eating he decided to formally introduce her to his army. 

Briseis shyly followed him into the clearing, which afforded a spectacular view of the landscape. Pairs of soldiers were engaged in sword practice amidst the sandy beach, while a throng of female slaves passed by, carrying bowls of food to be served and baskets of clothing to be washed or mended. Massive ships were docked across the shore, their sails flying in the breeze. A man ran up to them, bowing respectfully. She instantly recognized him as the soldier she spoke with the previous night.

"Call the men," Achilles ordered, and Eudorus darted off to gather the Phtians. Briseis grew nervous at the thought of being acquainted with an entire squadron, but she scolded herself. Letting them know she was Achilles' consort was all for the best. Perhaps they would treat her kindly after this.

The men were now congregated at the center of the camp, watching her curiously as they whispered among themselves. The looks they gave her were not malicious or disapproving, and she freely

scanned the sea of faces, noting that as numerous as they were, their obedience and admiration for Achilles was clear. She also spied the soldiers who had kidnapped her from the temple, but on this occasion, they could not meet her stare, so worried were they of displeasing their overlord. Achilles raised his hand, and the noise gradually lessened.

"Myrmidons, I present Briseis of Troy to you," he said, his voice ringing with pride. "Treat her with respect for she is my woman. Protect, honor and care for her as you would any other Greek…and know that the reverence you bestow upon her- you bestow upon me."

Briseis needn't have worried about rejection. The Myrmidons were a loyal crew, and regardless of what they thought, they responded with a loud roar of acceptance- and she sighed with relief. Initially, she had fretted of being despised for her origins, and the realization that these fears were baseless eased her to a considerable degree. One by one, Achilles introduced her to his men, and moving as if she were in a dream, she nodded her head and gave each of them a polite greeting. In a quarter of an hour the affair was complete, and the army disbanded to return to their obligations.

Suddenly, a Phtian officer arrived, harnessing a beautiful white horse for their inspection. Mesmerized, Briseis gaped at the radiant creature, wondering if it was an immortal. "This is Xanthus- he was a mere foal when I tamed him," Achilles said, stroking the animal's hair. Xanthus neighed spiritedly, prancing and stamping his hooves on the ground.

"He's magnificent- even Bellerophon's Pegasus couldn't equal him in radiance," Briseis said admiringly.

She yelped when Achilles lifted her by the waist and deposited her onto the horse's saddle. "There's more where he came from," he grinned, adjusting the animal's reigns, "he has a partner named Balius- who you'll be meeting in awhile." He hoisted himself behind her and gave the horse a firm nudge. The imprint of his legs beneath hers made her blush, but her discomfort was brief, and forgotten once they commenced touring the campsite.

"Do you see that batch of warriors?" Achilles asked, pointing westwards, "They fall under Odysseus' command. He is king of Ithaca, a comrade-at-arms and probably among the wisest of Greeks." Briseis observed that the Ithacans were a relatively small group, and when she commented on this, he added that they filled a mere twelve ships. "What they lack in numbers, they make up for in sheer cunning," he assured. "They follow their leader's example, and Odysseus is as wily as a fox."

The afternoon wore on, and Briseis learned how to distinguish one army from the other, and how to recognize them by the type of armor they wore. Man-made palisades were built as barriers in between camps, and Achilles stressed on her the importance of not straying far from his border. "The Phtians acknowledge you out of respect for me - but you may not receive similar treatment from the rest of the troops. Promise me you won't be visiting the remaining parts of the beach without my escort- or my men's."

She gave him her word and they continued in their stroll- heading north, where the Boetians erected their shelters, and the Athenians and Arcadians anchored their ships. A short distance away, Prince Menelaus' Spartans from Lakedaemon were setting up camp, hurriedly transferring properties from their sea vessels, while the neighboring Thessalonians proceeded in kind. From Ajax Telamon's Salamisians to Prince Thoas' Aetolians to old king Nestor's Pylians…the Achaeans had the largest and most diversified legions Briseis had ever seen, and they occupied the beach like a swarm of bees flitting through a field of sprig flowers. With Achilles' protective arms around her, and the slight ocean wind cooling her cheeks, it did not occur to her that such an adventure would never have taken place, had she been encased within Troy's walls, or the confines of Apollo's temple.

Seated upon proud Xathus, they plodded through the makeshift barracks, and Achilles regaled her with colorful tales of his journey to Troy.

"…Did they really leave the poor man in that island?" she asked, horrified with his final story.

"The water snake's bite caused an infection, which paralyzed Philoctetes…the army couldn't risk exposure, and finding a cure to his ailment was impossible in those circumstances." Achilles whisked Xanthus in another direction. "Sailing without him was a sad affair, but it was a necessity, as he would have slowed us down. We aid our wounded, but we do not pamper or cater to them. To do so would be a weakness, and a betrayal of the warrior's code."

She sighed wistfully. "I suppose he died— being alone in the wilderness with no one to wait on him…"

"His fate is unknown. But we left him with a ship of his own, ample food supply and an assemblage of healers and servants. If he manages to survive, he can still make the trip here and join the war."

"He must've been a considerable loss, if his bow and arrows were gifts from the great Hercules—as you said they were."

"That is the rumor, but it was his skill the army valued most, not the weapons he used. Philoctetes was an exceptional archer, and most famed throughout Greece." With the sun's rays slowly dipping the horizon, he marshaled their swift-footed steed back to the path from whence they came.

"Achilles!"

A handsome young man in gleaming armor was standing beside a tree hut, grinning like a sleazy merchant. Briseis perceived the intruder with interest. He was extremely attractive, his skin fair as hers, his curly brown hair reaching his shoulders, framing dark, deep-seated eyes that reminded her of Paris'. But unlike her cousin, there was a hint of malice in his demeanor, which was unnerving for someone his age. He strutted to where they were, his spotted leopard cape swaying to and fro with every step he took.

Achilles frowned. Nireus was a notorious rake, a man who chased every woman he fancied. It was also common knowledge that he despised the Myrmidons - Achilles included. There could be only one reason why the whelp would deign to speak to him. He tightened his arms around Briseis.

"What agreeable climate this is…you almost forget the war with the Trojans."

"You would know better than I, Nireus," Achilles replied smoothly, "seeing as you haven't fought in a single battle yet."

Instead of being insulted, the youth chuckled, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Sharp-tongued as usual, I see- it's no secret most Achaeans fear you! But not I…in fact, I've always _admired_ your league of fighters. The Myrmidons are so courageous. And one needn't guess why- they take after their brave king!" Achilles suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, while Briseis stifled a twinge of alarm.

"…But I can't deny your accusation," Nireus sighed. "It's true I haven't been fighting lately. I'm not to blame, though- possessing a mere three ships to my name is pitiful, indeed. How I wish I had fifty! You should be thankful, commanding such a large battalion, amassing such treasures…" He leered at Briseis, and she involuntarily stiffened, leaning back on Achilles for support.

"Surely a man of your generosity can _share_ a portion of his wealth with the less fortunate," he continued, fixated on the lovely damsel. "I've been quite lonely these past few evenings…with no one to tend to me…"

"If it's gold you desire, you can always pay Agamemnon a visit," Achilles said, and Nireus' smugness vanished. "Compliment him on his nonexistent valor and you'll earn a talon of it."

"Perhaps you misunderstood what I just said," Nireus began, but he was cut off.

"Perhaps you misheard accounts of my generosity," Achilles said coldly. The prince's fawning was but ploy to get what he wanted- but he was a very poor actor, and there was no chance the warlord would ever give in to his request. "I give what I can…but I can be downright selfish- and don't simply share _people I value_."

On that note, they cantered off, abandoning the frustrated prince, and it was already dark when they reached Achilles' domain.

* * *

"She's pretty…but I thought he wouldn't be acquiring a mistress this time. That's what he said back home." Patroclus shifted, trying to get a better view of the Trojan princess from where he sat. Achilles and Briseis were dining by the campfire, accompanied by a dozen Myrmidons. With his arm on the girl's shoulders, the warrior conversed animatedly with his men, while she chewed on a piece of roasted fish, seemingly content and unafraid. 

"Well, he changed his mind, apparently…and I can see why." Eudorus flicked a glance at the lady who had so captivated his lord. "She's different from his previous consorts- that much I could discern from my conversation with her yesterday."

"You talked to her?" Patroclus asked, surprised. "About what?"

"She was wary of your cousin and I merely put in a good word for him."

"…What is she like?" the boy persisted.

" I don't know her well enough to give a detailed description," Eudorus said, popping a chunk of meat into his mouth. "But she's eloquent, soft-spoken and extremely ladylike…methinks she's descended from royalty." They watched a handful of soldiers address Briseis, and saw her respond to this in a friendly- if somewhat shy- manner. In a few minutes she too, was conversing freely with the men, and Achilles was beaming with satisfaction. "She's very young, though," Eudorus continued, "I'm guessing only a few years your senior."

"Perhaps I should get myself a companion," Patroclus mused. "It might lure me from the excitement of the battle."

"Choose a maid who'll suit you best, if you do. There's no point in getting attached if it only gives you a headache." Eudorus arose, getting ready to return to his quarters. "…While we're at it, Prince Idomeneus will be dividing his loot this weekend, and he's extended an invitation to the house of Phtia. You could drop by his territory; you might find what you're looking for there."

The boy nodded, and when the Phtian commander departed, his gaze strayed once more to the foreign girl. Achilles had left her to fetch something in his tent for a while, and she was presently poking the cheery fire with the branch of a tree. Patroclus sat there for a moment- then he made a decision and got up, heading straight for her. He perched on a log perpendicular to hers, and she looked up, smiling uncertainly.

"Where are you from?" he asked, then mentally scolded himself. _She was from Troy, of course!_ "What I meant to say was…"

"…I'm from the heart of the city," she said, dropping the stick and deliberating if revealing her origins was safe.

"Oh…um…and how old are you?" Patroclus bit his lip, wincing inwardly. Another senseless question and she'd get the impression that he was a naïve youngster- too inexperienced to be bothered with- even if she was but a few years older than he.

The awkward interrogation failed to bother Briseis. Truth be told, she was relieved that Achilles' cousin had made the effort to get to know her. It meant that he didn't consider her as a lowly slave, and that the boy- green as he was- was a gentleman. "I turned eighteen this summer," she said, giving him her full attention. "And I used to serve in Apollo's temple before…um, before your crew landed. You're Lord Achilles' cousin, aren't you? Your resemblance to him is remarkable."

"Everyone says so," Patroclus replied, "and I'm used to being compared to him." Briseis was about to object, but he reassured her. "No, it's alright, really. The comparisons are inevitable- we're related through my grandmother and most of our kinsmen have the same height, build, and coloring. We also spend a lot of sessions together- training, sparring, doing the things men do…so it's natural for them to size me up against him."

"He must care for you a lot to train you so extensively."

"He does…but I wish he'd treat me like a man and let me take part in the fighting." An interesting notion dawned on him, and he mumbled softly, almost to himself. "Do you suppose you could…maybe…" His brow furrowed and he grimaced. "…Perchance, you could…um…"

"What is it?" Briseis asked, baffled.

"…Convince him to let me fight?"

Silence ensued, and she blinked once, and then twice, trying to grasp his request. Nervously, he clenched his fists, turning red with embarrassment. "No, I apologize...I shouldn't have asked you…I'm the man here. I should master this dilemma and…"

"It's not that," Briseis said, carefully phrasing her answer, "I'm just not sure he'd listen if I broached the subject. We met scarcely two days ago, and I'm a virtual stranger- I don't see how my intruding could…" She saw his crestfallen expression and hastily added, "but I could mention it in passing…if that's what you want."

"I've already raised the matter and he won't budge," Patroclus said, dully. "If I bring it up again, he might lose patience and send me home altogether." Troubled, he paced the sand, rubbing the nape of his neck.

"You've had enough exercise for tonight, Patroclus," Achilles said, drawing near them, "proceed with that workout, and the beach floor will soon cave in." He grinned at Briseis and, lopping an arm around her waist, brought her close to him. "I see you two have met. I'm glad you're getting along."

Patroclus nodded, and in a characteristic show of gallantry, he took the priestess' hand, kissing it. "How can we not? Lady Briseis is the perfect muse, and I'd consider myself fortunate if I found someone with half her attributes."

"I don't deserve such praise," Briseis protested, but she was deeply flattered.

"Oh, but you do," the boy countered, enjoying her modesty. "The maiden who conquers my cousin deserves so much more, in fact."

Fondly, they watched the young man stride off, and Achilles leaned down to whisper in her ear. "He's right about that, you know." To his consternation, she recoiled and turned away from him. At that late hour, the area was nearly deserted, save for the abiding sentries who were charged with patrolling the border of the Achaean encampment. Briseis settled on a log and took a deep breath, focusing on the doused bonfire. The day had been wonderful, but by no means did the enjoyment garnered eclipse the confusion she previously felt.

Rubbing her knees, she regarded him warily. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

It was now her turn to baffle him. "What do you mean?" he asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"Exactly what I just said." She stared up at him, her eyes dark and contemplative. "You're the king of Phtia, and I'm— well, I _was— _a princess of Troy. Plainly speaking, we are enemies. You rescued me from the clutches of the Atreidei, and for that you have my eternal gratitude. But now that my life depends on you- I'm hard pressed to find the reason you've been treating me so kindly…"

Achilles crossed his arms, appraising her sternly, and while his belligerent stance instilled a pang of fear in her, she doggedly continued. "It's not that I want you to be cruel…no captive would willingly suffer, but…" She saw that the unrelenting aspect in him had not wavered. Standing straight and tall, he was observing her with a cool, calculating look- his arms folded on his chest, and a sandaled heel propped on the log beside her. So immersed in her monologue was she, that she completely missed the gleam of mirth in his eyes, the hint of a smile lingering in the corners of his mouth.

"My point is," she said, kneading her hands in her lap- a habit she had when nervous. "I may be young, but I'm not naïve. I know what's in store for me…what's in store for every female branded as a slave. You've been excessively amiable- probably more than I deserve. I just want to know why you're treating me as if we…well…as if we're _betrothed_." She ceased talking, and braced herself for his reaction.

He gazed into the distance for what seemed like an age, and when the trance was broken he scrutinized her, frowning. "Gossip spreads like the plague, does it not?"

"I'm sorry…I don't understand."

"Of course you do," Achilles touched his chin, feigning absorption. "You've heard various accounts of my behavior. The butchery, the blood drinking…mayhap, even the use of human skins for throw rugs. But if it will reassure you – I own that none of these claims are valid. I don't drink blood; I've always preferred wine. I collect treasure from the kingdoms I pillage, as any warlord would do after a raid. I won't be foraging for human trophies anywhere in the future, either— as I don't like most people, much less the skins that cover them. If the urge to redecorate my palace arises, I can simply hunt for an animal to do the job, and feed me while at it…" Amused, he tilted his head, and saw her staring at him, at a loss. "Does this allay your doubts, or shall I go on?"

"Lord Achilles—" she started, but he shook his head.

"_Achilles_, my name is Achilles…I don't want you addressing me as you would any other lord."

"Achilles," she repeated, strangely comforted by his bid for familiarity. "I had misgivings about you—

in the beginning of our acquaintance, that is. But I never believed in the gossip. They were too exaggerated, too sordid…" She shrugged helplessly. "It was also obvious that there was no evidence to base the rumors on."

"But you fear me, nonetheless."

"I would be lying if I said otherwise… yet it is the situation that worries me, above all." She faced him then, her voice calm, yet beseeching. "What are your plans for me, Achilles? And why the need for this courtship ritual? I cannot stop you—from taking what you want. I should despise you if you forced yourself on me, if you pitted your will against mine…but you've done none of that, which consoles yet confuses me all the same."

Achilles' heart twisted at this profound confession, and his mind captured the prevailing scene. With her long hair swaying in the wind, framing a visage of pure, unadulterated beauty…she was a picture of innocence and dejection. An intriguing contrast of strength and vulnerability. She admitted a desire to comprehend him, to truly see him for what he was…and this was a common goal, for many endeavored to fathom his actions, failing throughout the years despite their exertions. And he didn't give a damn what they did, or how they viewed him. In her case, it was different. The desire to expose himself was not as astounding as the wish for mutual reciprocation. He longed to see her true person without any barriers between them. To know what she wanted, what she thought, what she _loved_.

Reaching out, he pulled her into a standing position, and gently cradled her face with rough hands. "You realize, of course, that I always take what I want?" His intense gaze held her captive, and she wordlessly nodded. "You realize that I don't care what people think, that I deem myself accountable to no one?" A possessive arm slid around her back, anchoring her body to his, and she leaned into his embrace, her palms resting on his chest. "If I despised a man, you can be sure he'd be aware of it." Strong fingers tipped her chin up, and his thumbs caressed her lips, rubbing against their inviting fullness. "Likewise, if I admired a woman, I'd certainly have no qualms showing it."

"Achilles—"

He bent down and kissed her then, sensuously covering her mouth with his, lightly teasing the soft, pink lips that had aroused and excited him. His tongue expertly probed and parted them, and she welcomed the invasion, her mind reeling with conflicting emotions, her heart beating like mad. Her shy acceptance motivated him to even greater heights and he deepened the kiss- fiercely gathering her with both arms, his mouth slanting over hers with overwhelming passion. She gasped when his tongue explored her further, but she offered herself willingly, holding onto his breastplate for support as he buried his hands into her hair, bringing her closer to him.

When he finally broke contact she was panting softly, her cheeks flushed. Closing her eyes, she buried her head in the crook of his neck, while he stroked her back soothingly, rubbing his jaw against her forehead.

"Is it always like this?" she asked, shaking with some unnamed feeling.

"No, it isn't." Achilles tightened his embrace, marveling at the power she held over him. "It's never like this." She looked up at him then, and he saw— with enormous satisfaction—that she was as disoriented as he.

He was instantly reminded of a pressing issue. "I want you to anticipate my return, Briseis," he said, gripping her forcefully, and with unconcealed ardor. "…I want you to wait for me, no matter how early."

"Why? Where are you going?"

"I'll be raiding the cities of Thebes, Antandrus and Adramyntium in a couple of days…" He saw her melancholy expression and misinterpreted its cause. "It's something every warrior does, and we've already established that I'm not the man to shirk from it."

"Will you be gone long?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't.

He chuckled, delighted by her actual concern. "If all goes well, I should be back in a week or so…I trust you'll find ways to amuse yourself in my absence? Most of the Myrmidon will be riding with me- but I'll leave a handful of soldiers and serving women to attend on you." Pressing a tender kiss on her forehead, he decided it was time to retire.

For Achilles, the episode was a step towards attaining the only maiden he ever cared for in his whole life. For Briseis, it was the advent of more to come, and the first instance she allowed herself to believe, that everything would be alright.

_  
(to be continued…_)

* * *

  
Author's note: For some reason, writing this chapter was extremely difficult for me- tedious, too. _Bwisit_! Anyway, hope you all like it…:D Also, I seem to be having trouble creating line breaks in between my scenes- so if ever this fic is newly updated and you don't see any line breaks, etc., just wait a couple of days- I'm usually able ot fix this thing. > 

And without further ado, here is another Troy fan art located at

www(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)view(slash)15781021

_  
Extra Notes:_

Scamander river (also called "Xanthus"): What is now called the Menderes with the Mediterranean Sea- it is often mentioned in the Iliad. Achilles battles it in the book, an event which will not be happening in this fic, due to the exclusion of the gods/immortals.

Iphis: Patroclus' concubine in the Iliad. She is said to have come from Skyros and is often termed as "fine – girdled." Little else is known of her character- for the purpose of this fic, she too is descended from royalty.

Hecamede: Daughter of Arsinous. She came from Tenedos, and was given to King Nestor after he sacked the city.

Xanthus and Balius: Achilles' team of horses. Immortal in the book, and are said to be offspring of the wind god, Zephyrus.

Philoctetes: Skilled Greek archer. Left in the island of Lemnos after being bitten by a snake. He got well and followed the rest of the Greeks. He is best known for shooting (and killing) Paris by the end of the war.

Nireus: According to the Iliad he is the second most handsome of the Greeks…but a man of little substance.


End file.
